his help.
Let him drive forty minutes one February morning to repair our furnace when it stopped working.
Nobody had complained about his garage smell then.
This was about who Karen believed belonged in the room.
And who did not.
For twelve years, she had assumed I would continue smoothing things over.
That morning, I stopped.
“Fine,” I said.
“Fine?”
“If Dad isn’t welcome, then we’re not having Thanksgiving here.”
Karen blinked.
“What are you talking about?”
“Exactly what I said.”
“My parents will be here in an hour.”
“I
