Chapter 8 - Thanksgiving the Next Year
One year later, Thanksgiving was held at Walter and Margaret’s house.
The table was smaller.
The atmosphere was different.
Ethan arrived from his own apartment carrying a pie from a bakery near his office. He had been promoted. His house account held nearly eighteen thousand dollars.
Not because he suddenly earned much more.
Because his paycheck finally belonged to him.
Claire came with her children and a casserole she cooked herself. She had moved into a duplex nearby and worked full-time for a medical office. Her relationship with Ethan was not completely repaired, but it was honest.
Richard and Diane arrived last.
They had sold the large house and moved into a smaller townhouse. The sale paid off Richard’s failed investment debt and returned part of Ethan’s contributions through a repayment plan Walter insisted be written and signed.
Diane still became emotional when Ethan set boundaries.
Richard still referred to the entire conflict as a misunderstanding.
Change had not turned them into different people.
It had only removed their ability to make Ethan pay for remaining the same.
During dinner, Walter watched Ethan reach for the mashed potatoes.
“You doing all right?” he asked.
Ethan smiled.
“I’m getting there.”
“House fund?”
“Eighteen thousand four hundred.”
Margaret grinned.
Claire lifted her glass.
“To small steps.”
Ethan looked at her.
Then he raised his own.
After dinner, Richard approached him near the porch.
“You know we did love you.”
Ethan looked into the cold evening yard.
“I know.”
Richard seemed relieved too quickly.
Then Ethan continued.
“But love doesn’t make what you did fair.”
His father had no answer.
Ethan went back inside.
Walter was clearing plates despite everyone telling him to sit down. Ethan picked up the other stack and joined him.
At the sink, Walter spoke without looking over.
“You know what I was going to say that night before your father interrupted?”
Ethan shook his head.
“I was going to ask why the most responsible person at the table was the only one being punished for it.”
Ethan looked toward the dining room.
For years, his family had called his obedience maturity.
His silence generosity.
His exhaustion loyalty.
Grandpa had called it what it was.
May you like
Exploitation.
And once the truth had a name, Ethan could finally stop paying for it.
