My mother looked at the den, then back at the dining room table, and said, “No, I don’t think that’s my table anymore.”
The whole room went quiet except for one of the twins banging a spoon against a plastic cup.
My aunt gave that tight little smile she always used when she was annoyed. “Mama, the kids are already set up in there.”
Mom nodded. “I know. That’s why I brought folding chairs from my garage this morning. Since apparently nobody else planned for me to sit with the adults.”
She walked past all of them and unfolded two extra chairs right at the end of the dining table. Calm as anything.
My uncle Rick looked embarrassed immediately. Wouldn’t even meet her eyes. But my sister crossed her arms and said, “It’s not a big deal. You like being with the kids.”
Mom actually laughed at that. Not mean. Just tired.
“I like visiting my grandchildren,” she said. “I don’t like being parked in another room every holiday like an unpaid babysitter while the rest of you relax in here.”
Ashley slowly stopped stacking cups. My aunt sat down without saying another word.
Then Mom looked at me and said, “Honey, bring those mashed potatoes over here before they get cold.”
So I did.
And for the first time since Dad died, my mother ate Thanksgiving dinner at the main table instead of balancing a paper plate beside spilled apple juice and cartoons.
The kids survived one meal without her entertaining them. Funny how the world kept turning anyway.