I give Brady a chaste kiss before we shut the trunk and thank him again for coming here, facing my parents. He takes our bags and my mom opens the door leading to the house. She still has short, blonde hair and an average, thin figure. Her look is typical to a mom who golfs and plays tennis at our country club, attending a few social charity events at my dad’s request.

“I thought I heard you,” she’s exclaims, drying her hands on her apron and walking toward us.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, embracing her. She holds me tight against her and I hear her sniffle. Is she crying?

“It’s so good to have you home.” She backs away from me, then sets her attention to Brady. “You must be Brady; it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, placing her hand out for him.

“The pleasure’s mine, Mrs. Miller. Thank you for having me,” Brady states.

“The honor is all ours. Please, call me Maggie,” she remarks. I look at her and see genuine happiness to have me home and meet Brady. I don’t notice any judgmental looks his way and I think he notices too. When I glance back at him, he gives me the first authentic smile I’ve seen since we landed. “Let’s get you guys settled.” She hurriedly gestures for us to go inside.

The house is still elaborately decorated with statues and paintings worth more than my college tuition. I walk Brady upstairs and show him his room. I’m thankful he has the guest room instead of Theo’s old room. The door is shut and I don’t plan on going in there this trip either. We lay Brady’s bags on the queen-size bed.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

“Fine. Sadie, stop worrying about me. I can handle this,” he says, reaching down to cup my face.

“You aren’t going to leave me if my parents are jackasses?” I ask.

“No,” he laughs. “That’s not a deal breaker.”

“Okay. Hey, have you found any new ones yet?” I question and grab his hand, leading him out of the room.

“I think I’m in too deep to start thinking about deal breakers.” He smirks at me, kissing my forehead.

We enter the hallway and I hear my grandma’s voice in the foyer. “Come on,” I say, yanking on Brady’s arm. “Meet my Grandma Ida. She’s the only sane one in the family.”

My grandma is a petite, redhead who speaks her mind. “Sadie darling, you look so beautiful,” she says, hugging me.

“Hi Grandma Ida, it’s good to see you,” I reply and take Brady’s hand so he is in front of her as well. “Grandma, this is Brady, my boyfriend,” I inform her, holding his hand firmly in my own.

“Let go darling, let the boy hug me,” she insists, extending her arms.

Brady doesn’t flinch, wrapping his arms around my small grandma. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs…”

“Ida, just Ida,” she informs him. “Strong and gentle, good mixture.” She lets Brady go and winks my way.

“Mom, do you want to rest before dinner?” my dad questions her, trying to get her eyes off of Brady, who smiles back to my grandma, unfazed of her admiring eyes.

“No, I sat on my ass the whole ride here.” Brady and I chuckle and my dad rolls his eyes.

“Come on Ida, take a seat in the entertainment room,” my mom instructs her.

“Theo, be a dear and get my bag. I have something for Sadie and I brought my sweet potato and apple pies,” she turns to my dad and Brady looks my way, confused.

“Sure, Mom,” my dad takes her keys and walks out the front door.

“I told you I was going to make the pies, Ida. You didn’t need to bring anything.” My mom takes my grandma’s arm, guiding her into the other room.

“Darling, you can cook a gourmet meal that will melt in your mouth, but I’m not about to eat some store bought pie on Thanksgiving, no matter what high-end bakery you bought it from.” Brady and I chuckle, following them.

“My dad is Theo as well. He’s Theodore Benjamin Miller, Jr., my brother was the third,” I whisper in Brady’s ear to clarify the situation. He nods his head to me in understanding.

I’m surprised how much Brady appears to be into football. I guess I never asked but he is sitting in the living room, cheering for the Detroit Lions along with my dad and grandma. My dad was born in Detroit but only lived there until he was three. My biological grandpa died and Grandma Ida met and married my Grandpa Pat, who brought her and my dad to live here in the east. Every Thanksgiving, they cheer on the Lions because they think of them as their hometown team.

After I peel the potatoes, I sit next to Brady and cozy up to him but he moves over, only holding my hand. I give him a quizzical look and he shifts his eyes to my dad and then back to me. I smile, realizing he wants to be respectful. I guess I should as well.

We all go into the dining room to have dinner. I instruct Brady to sit next to me; my parents are at each end and my grandma across from us. My grandma is right, my mom is a magnificent cook. The golden brown turkey looks juicy and delectable. The potatoes are whipped to perfection with homemade gravy, accompanied by fresh baked rolls and butter shaped into leaves. My mom knows how to entertain, even if it is just us.

“Great job, Mags,” my dad compliments her and she gives him a tight smile back. What was that about?

“Yes Maggie, it all looks so tasty,” my grandma joins in.

“Thank you all, please dig in,” she says and motions with her hands out to the table.

We all start to pass the dishes, making small talk about school and my grandma’s senior condo building. My dad talks about his clients and my mom fills me in on some former classmates of mine. When dessert arrives, the game of twenty questions starts, all of which are directed toward Brady.

“So Brady, where is your family this holiday?” my dad asks.

“I told Mom, his dad and mom were busy,” I answer for him and Brady squeezes my leg under the table.

“Sadie is correct. My mom lives in Florida and my dad wasn’t available.”

“Where does your mom live in Florida?” my grandma asks.

“Um…Miami,” Brady stutters as though he had to think about it.

“I go down to Melbourne Beach during the winter,” my grandma adds. “You and Sadie should come down during your holiday break.” She smiles up at us. “You could visit your mom while you’re down there.”

“I’m sure Sadie and I would love to visit you,” Brady says, leaving his mother out. I’m afraid there are more issues than I know.

“Come on down. Hell, I’ll pay for your ticket if you wear a speedo,” she laughs.

“Grandma!” I shriek.

“Mom!” my dad screams while my mom laughs along with my grandma.

“Oh Sadie, you can’t keep that all to yourself,” she says and winks at Brady, who laughs.

“Brady, what do your parents do?” my dad asks. “My mom is a realtor and my dad is a retired professor,” he says. I try not to look surprised; these are things I should have already known.

“Oh, so was your father a professor at Western?” my mom asks.

“Yes, he retired last year.” Brady never looks up, moving his pie around on the plate.

“Wait.” My dad sets his fork down. “Is your dad Dean Carsen of Contemporary Music?”

“Yes sir, he was,” Brady says, his voice is quiet and shaky and I wonder what I’m missing.

“I have a friend whose son went there. He gives your dad credit for his son’s success. His name is Jack London, the producer for Heavensky Records.”

“Yes, I know him. He used to come by the house sometimes when I was younger,” Brady says. “He also attended my dad’s retirement ceremony last year.”

“Isn’t your dad young to already be retired?” my mom inquires.

“He had been teaching there since he got his doctorate so he retired early in order to work on some other projects,” he says, void of any emotion.

“Why didn’t you follow in his footsteps and pursue music?” my dad asks.

“I wanted something different.” Brady shrugs his shoulders.

“But you are in a band, correct?” my dad clarifies.