Thanksgiving

I woke up early, with the aroma of cinnamon and spices floating through the house. Mom was already in the kitchen preparing the final details for dinner, while Dad reviewed his to-do list to make sure everything was perfect. My grandparents would arrive at noon, and although I knew it would be a day full of family traditions, I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. I didn't remember the last time my grandparents had come for Thanksgiving; they usually preferred to stay home until Christmas. But this year, according to Mom, they wanted to have an "important conversation" with me.

When I went downstairs for breakfast, Mom handed me a cup of hot coffee and smiled with that warmth that always managed to calm me down.

"Ready for today?" she asked, stirring a pumpkin pie batter.

"I guess so," I replied, taking a sip of coffee. "But I still don't know what my grandparents want to tell me. Do you have any idea?"

Mom shook her head, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be something good. Just remember to enjoy the day."

I nodded, though I wasn't completely convinced. I knew my family had a way of making even the simplest moments feel loaded with meaning.

After breakfast, I helped Mom finish some preparations. We prepared the herb-and-bread stuffing for the turkey, baked small corn muffins, and chopped fresh vegetables for the salad. Each task seemed to carry a family tradition: how to peel carrots into thin strips, how to ensure the turkey glaze had exactly the right amount of rosemary. Everything was part of a ritual that had existed long before I was born.

At noon, the sound of the doorbell announced the arrival of my grandparents. I ran to open the door, and there they were, carrying bags full of wrapped gifts and a giant box of homemade apple cider. My grandmother hugged me tightly, as if trying to make sure I was still the same girl who used to climb trees in her garden. My grandfather, always reserved but kind, gave me a brief but sincere hug.

"Lindsay, dear, you've grown so much," my grandmother said, looking at me with eyes full of pride. "You're all grown up now."

"Thank you, Grandma," I replied, feeling a slight warmth in my cheeks.

We headed to the living room, where Mom had already prepared tea and cookies to welcome them. As we sipped our drinks, my grandparents began talking about how important it was to keep family traditions alive.

"You know, Lindsay," my grandfather began, in his serious but warm tone, "family is our foundation. It's what keeps us together, even when life takes us down different paths. That's why we wanted to be here today, to remind you how much you mean to us."

I nodded, trying to process his words. Though I understood what they were saying, I couldn't help but think about Sack and Olivia. They were also part of my life now, and I felt that my concept of "family" had begun to expand beyond blood ties.

"I understand," I finally said. "And I'm very grateful to have all of you. But I also want to say that lately, I've found another kind of family. My friends… Sack and Olivia. They've been there for me in ways I never imagined."

My grandparents exchanged a quick glance, as if they hadn't expected me to mention my friends so soon. My grandmother smiled softly.

"That's wonderful, dear. Friendship is a blessing. Just make sure the people by your side are those who truly value who you are."

"They do," I responded firmly. "Sack and Olivia accept me for who I am. They support me, listen to me, and help me see things about myself that I didn't understand before. I'm incredibly grateful for them."

My grandfather nodded slowly, as if considering my words.

"Then take good care of them. True friendships are a rare treasure in this life."

My grandmother added, with a sweet smile:

"It's beautiful to hear that you have people like that in your life. We're grateful for them too, because they make you happy. And that's what matters."

The afternoon passed quickly between light conversations and final preparations for dinner. When it was time to sit at the table, the dining room was filled with delicious aromas. In the center of the table was a golden, juicy turkey, surrounded by traditional Thanksgiving dishes: creamy mashed potatoes, herb stuffing, bright cranberry sauce, roasted vegetables, and of course, the pumpkin pie Mom had baked with such care. There was also a large pitcher of spiced hot apple cider, which my grandmother insisted on serving personally.

During dinner, each of us shared something we were thankful for. When it was my turn, I took a deep breath and looked at my family.

"This year, I'm especially grateful for many things," I began, feeling a lump in my throat. "For my family, of course, who has always been there for me. But also for my friends. Sack and Olivia have changed my life in ways I never imagined. They've taught me to value who I really am and not to be afraid to face challenges. I'm incredibly grateful for them."

There was a moment of silence at the table, and then my grandmother smiled widely.

"It's beautiful to hear that, Lindsay. Gratitude is what gives our lives meaning."

Dad, who had been quiet for most of the meal, finally spoke up.

"It's good to know you have people in your life who support you, Lindsay. But I also want you to remember that you can always count on us. We're your family, and that will never change."

"I know, Dad," I replied, feeling a bit guilty for talking so much about my friends in front of them. "And I'm very grateful for that too. You've always been my refuge."

Mom raised her glass of wine, with a warm smile.

"To families, whether by blood or by choice. Because in the end, what matters is the love we share."

We all raised our glasses, toasting to those words.

After dinner, I helped clean up and organize the leftovers. My grandmother insisted on wrapping some dishes for me to take home later, saying that "homemade food always tastes better the next day." As I was putting the pumpkin pie into a plastic container, my phone buzzed in the pocket of my dress. I quickly pulled it out, expecting a message from the group. But when I saw Sack's name on the screen, my heart skipped a beat.

The message read:

"Lindsay, do you have a free moment right now? I'm downtown. It's not urgent, but I'd like to talk to you if you can."

I frowned as I read the words. Sack wasn't someone who sought out spontaneous conversations, especially on days like this. If he had decided to leave his house and text me right after the family dinner, something must be going on.

I quickly replied:

"Of course, I'm home with my family, but I can step out for a bit. Where exactly are you?"

His response came almost instantly:

"In the small plaza near the old bookstore. Don't rush, I just wanted to make sure you had time."

I put my phone back in my pocket and went to the kitchen, where Mom was storing the leftovers in the fridge.

"Mom, I'm going out for a bit," I said, trying to sound casual. "Sack is downtown and wants to talk to me. I won't be long."

Mom looked at me curiously but didn't ask questions.

"Alright, sweetheart. Just be careful and don't stay out too late. It's cold tonight."

I nodded and grabbed my jacket from the coat rack by the door. Dad was in the living room with the grandparents, so I didn't have to give any further explanations. I left the house feeling a mix of concern and curiosity. What could have led Sack to seek a face-to-face conversation just today?