Kelsey laughed too loudly at my stepdad’s stories, the kind of laugh that tries too hard to belong. Derek barely spoke. He sipped his wine with his eyes down, nodding when someone addressed him directly.
My mother, across the table, kept shifting her gaze between the two of them. Her smile had faded.
“Is Derek okay?” she asked at one point. “He’s so quiet tonight.”
“He’s still recovering, Mom,” I said politely. “It’s been a long few days.”
“He’s so quiet tonight.”
She nodded but didn’t look convinced.
When the dessert plates were finally cleared, and the twins still hadn’t stirred upstairs, I rose from my seat, glass in hand.
“I want to say something,” I said, holding the stem of my glass a little tighter than I meant to.
Derek turned slightly, his posture stiffening.
“To family,” my mother chimed in quickly, trying to inject warmth into the room.
