The Holiday My Family Left Me Off

Outside my window that morning, Purdin had that Thanksgiving stillness small towns get, the highway empty, the diner dark, even the dogs quieter than usual, like the whole place had agreed to hold still for one day. At 9:12 that morning I checked my phone for the third time. No group text with the schedule. No call from Mom asking if I was bringing the casserole. Nothing. I told myself everyone was just busy, because that is what I always tell myself. I have spent my whole adult life building small, generous explanations for people who never once built one for me.

I called my sister anyway. It rang six times before Katharyn picked up, out of breath, and behind her voice I could hear a house full of people. Dishes clinking. A child laughing. The unmistakable sound of a holiday already underway without me.

“Oh,” she said, and her voice dropped like she had stepped into another room. “Jettie.”

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound light. “Just checking what time to head over. The sweet potatoes are done.”

The silence that followed was not a normal silence.