The front door opened into heat, cooking smells, and noise. Turkey. Greens. Sweet potatoes caramelized at the edges. Football commentary from another room. Laughter from the living room. My mother always knew how to make a table look generous even when her spirit wasn’t.
Tiana sprawled across the sofa showing off a new handbag. Marcus stood by the fireplace with bourbon in his hand, talking loudly about markets he did not understand. Caleb stood in the center of the room, one hand in his pocket, charming everyone with the half-smile he reserved for juries, clients, and women he intended to use.
No one hugged me.
No one said, You did it.
My mother came out of the kitchen, looked at me once, and said, “You’re late.”
“I came from the office,” I said.
She made a face like my office were some ridiculous hobby.
I set down the pie I had brought. “The funding closed this morning.”
“What funding?” Tiana asked, barely looking up.
“Our round,” I said. “For the company.”
Marcus took a sip of bourbon and smiled. “Must be nice. Everybody wants to throw money at diversity founders these days. Inclusion makes a nice headline.”