EMBER
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is at Felix and Harper's, because you do not make a woman with a newborn travel anywhere, and because their townhouse is the only one big enough to hold all of us. And all of us is a lot.
Cassidy and Sully’s parents flew in with mom.
Harper's family is here, her parents and Sam. Kimberly, Camryn, and Nate, her besties, are there as well. Of course, Pierre and his mom flew in, and Issy and her sisters, too. Then it was the hockey crew, Bouch, Nelly and Evan, as well as Sully, Emmett, Jo, Fish and Collette, plus Cassidy and me. Also, we couldn’t forget the dogs Puck and Frankston, currently both under the table waiting for something to fall.
The boys got in late last night after a couple of away games this week before they have a home game.
Bastien is being passed around like a parcel.
He's tiny and completely unbothered by any of it, and every single one of these enormous hockey players turns to mush the second he's handed over.
It makes your ovaries throb seeing them with a baby.
Fish has asked if we can turn on the game because his cousin Ledger is playing and he wants to watch. His family didn’t come down from Maine as his brother-in-law is back from deployment and wanted to stay home, which is understandable.
It's chaos, and I stand in the middle of Harper's enormous kitchen with a glass of wine, letting it wash over me. My mother is laughing with Sully, who is standing with my brother, who has Jo tucked in under his arm. Then Bastien has a meltdown, which sets Puck off, and he starts howling.
Eventually, everything settles down and we all head to the tables set up in Harper and Felix’s dining room. It spills out into the living room, but we can hear and see everyone. Somewhere around the time the turkey comes out, Harper taps her glass.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming to our home for our first Thanksgiving as a family.” She looks over at Felix, who has little Bastien in his arms, rocking him, and she looks so happy.
“And I want to keep the tradition alive that we go around the table and say what we are all thankful for.” There are rumblings and giggles.
“I’ll start. I am thankful for Bastien being a happy and healthy baby. You’re turn, babe.” She looks at Felix.
“I am thankful for you, for making me a dad,” he says as he leans over and kisses her.
Aw.
It goes around the table, and it's mostly what you'd expect, family and health and a good season so far, until it gets to us.
“This will be a joint what we are thankful for.” Cassidy smirks and looks over at me. “As of yesterday, Ember and I are officially, legally, one hundred percent divorced.”
The table erupts with cheers.
“So, this year,” she carries on over the top of the noise, “we are extremely thankful that we are no longer married to Trevor and Kevin. And that the universe was kind enough to let those two idiots fall in love with each other before they wasted another single day for us.”
My eyes fall on Sully’s, and he gives me a nod.
“To freedom,” Violetta yells, and the whole table's up, glasses raised. Patrick calls out ‘good riddance’ loud enough that Bastien startles, Maureen’s laughing and crying at once, and Mom is across the table with her hand pressed to her mouth and her eyes shining right at me.
For the first time in my whole adult life, the word divorced doesn’t feel like I failed at something. It feels like something I got out of.
It takes a while for everyone to settle back down, glasses topped up. A couple more people give their thanks, and then it comes to Issy.
“Guess we have a joint what we are thankful for this year.” She smiles, and Pierre slides his arm around her shoulders and looks at her with so much love in his eyes. “We are thankful that we are having a baby.”
The entire room goes crazy again, louder this time. Pierre’s mom bursts into tears. Jo and Collette jump up and rush over to hug Issy.
“Oh my gosh, Issy, how far along are you?” Cassidy asks.
“We just passed twelve weeks. I’ve been dying to tell you all.” Her eyes shimmer.
“Congrats, Daddy,” Bouch calls out to Pierre, and everyone bursts out laughing.
What a day to be thankful, we have so many blessings.
We get home stuffed, the three of us barely able to move after everything we ate. Cassidy is already yawning before we’re even through the door.
“I’m done,” she announces, kicking her shoes off. “That was a lot of turkey and a lot of feelings. I’m going to bed.”
“Night,” I call after her.
“Night.” She disappears down the hall, and a moment later I hear her door click shut.
And then it’s just us.
Sully drops onto the couch, and I go and pour us both a glass of water because if I have one more drop of wine, I’ll regret it in the morning. I hand him one and sit down on the other end of the couch, my legs tucked up under me.
“Good day,” he says.
“Really good day. And now Issy and Pierre are having baby. That is so awesome.”
He nods, takes a sip of his water, and watches me over the top of the glass. “So, you and Cass are divorced?”
“Yep, divorced.”
“How do you feel about it? Really.”
I think about his question. Yesterday I thought I was going to be sad, that a wave of grief would hit me, but it never came, a whole heap of calm and relief did instead.
“Honestly, I feel lighter. I keep waiting to feel sad about it, and I just don’t. Maybe I got all my tears out before today.”
He nods slowly. “That’s because it was over a long time before it was over.”
“It really was.” I turn the glass in my hands. “Is it bad that I don’t feel anything? Like, I was married to him for years.”
He huffs a laugh. “No, I think it means you’re ready.”
“Ready for what?” I ask.
“Whatever comes next.” He sets his glass down.
Who knows what that is. I don’t answer. Instead, I reach for the remote and put on whatever movie is already queued up.
Neither of us really watches it. The room is quiet, the only light in the room comes from the screen.
At some point I shift closer, and he doesn’t move away.
My head ends up against his chest, his arm settling loosely around me.
His heartbeat is steady under my ear. I don’t mean to fall asleep, but I’m in a turkey coma.
I wake up in the dark of my own room. He’s setting me down carefully on the bed, one arm still under my knees, the other behind my back. I open my eyes, and he’s right there, face close, looking at me like he’s been caught doing something soft.
Neither of us says anything.
I lift my hand to his jaw and pull him to me.
The kiss is slow. There’s no rush. His mouth is warm and careful at first, like he’s giving me every chance to change my mind.
When I don’t, he deepens it, but it’s still unhurried, still gentle, but with a heat that sinks straight into my bones.
His hand cups the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheek, and I feel the way he holds himself back, like he’s afraid of breaking whatever this is.
I part my lips, and he takes the invitation, tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my stomach flip.
It’s not desperate or frantic. It’s a kiss that feels like a promise neither of us is ready to say out loud.
He tastes like the last of the wine, and I can’t help the soft sound that escapes me when he tilts my head just a little more.
When we finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
He’s quiet for a long second, just breathing with me. Then, with a voice that’s low and rough, he says, “This is getting harder to walk away from.”
My heart stutters.
Before I can say anything, he presses one last kiss to the corner of my mouth, gentle and final.
“Night, Em,” he whispers.
“Night.”
He closes my door when he goes.
I lie there in the dark with those words echoing in my chest, heavier than any kiss.
I don’t want to lead him on, and I’m not ready for a relationship yet, but I’m also not looking to date a million people either.
I guess I kind of like him being there, but I know that’s not fair on him.
It’s more than sex between us, and I know that ignoring what is happening between us is starting to feel like the harder option.
Sleep takes a long time to come, and when it finally does, I dream of him.
In the dream, the light is soft and golden, late afternoon spilling across wide wooden floors.
The kitchen smells like butter and garlic and something sweet baking in the oven.
Outside the windows, tall trees move in a slow breeze, leaves whispering.
Somewhere in the house, a baby monitor crackles once, then goes quiet again.
Sully stands at the stove, sleeves rolled up, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he stirs.
When he turns and sees me watching, the smile that breaks across his face is so open it hurts.
He reaches for me without words. I hop down from the counter and walk straight into his arms. He smells like the soap he always uses, the warmth of the kitchen, and something that is only him.
His mouth finds mine, slow and sure, tasting of the life we somehow built.
Tiny shoes sit by the back door, and a half-finished bottle sits on the counter beside a stack of mail addressed to both of us. Everything feels lived-in and easy and ours.
“You chose me,” he murmurs against my lips, voice rough with wonder, like he still can’t quite believe it.
I wake with my heart pounding and the ghost of that kitchen still thick in my lungs, the smell of butter, the press of his mouth, the quiet certainty of a life that never happened.
For a long time, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to decide if the ache in my chest is longing or fear.
Maybe both.