know.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
I didn’t yell.
I didn’t slam a door.
I didn’t throw anything.
I walked into the kitchen and looked at the meal.
The turkey was beautifully browned.
Sweet potatoes were warming in the oven.
Green bean casserole sat on the counter.
Fresh rolls.
Pumpkin pie cooling nearby.
Everything Karen had prepared for the people she believed deserved a seat at the table.
I opened the cabinet above the refrigerator and pulled out several foil trays.
Karen appeared in the doorway.
“What are you
