Thanksgiving morning, I wake up to an empty bed. The guesthouse is quiet, no signs or sounds of life. For a few moments, I hang suspended in amorphous dread—last night was a terrible, beautiful fantasy.

Then I remember that for the last twenty years, all the men in the house have congregated at eight a.m. Thanksgiving Day for a five-mile run. Because they’re collectively insane. Sebastian most of all, as I know he only got a few hours of sleep. Shaking my head in amusement, I pull a pillow over my face and roll over, hoping for another hour or two.

A few seconds later, pounding on the front door hijacks my aspirations. My head is foggy, my body sluggish as I swing my feet to the floor.

“Coming!” I yell hoarsely, while wondering who the hell would knock instead of walking right in. We didn’t lock the door, did we?

“Get your pasty-ass down here!” Vera’s voice is loud enough to penetrate the walls.

“Oh, shit!” I yelp, lurching to my feet as much-needed adrenaline explodes through my limbs. I grab the closest clothing—Sebastian’s discarded Henley—yank on a pair of thick socks, and race downstairs to open the door. “I’m so freaking sorry, V!”

Scowling, Vera’s sharp gaze catalogues my dishevelment, from bedhead to mismatched socks. Finally, her eyes find mine and a slow grin spreads across her face.

“You are tore up!”

I wince. “Yeah, um—” I begin lamely, but her raised hand stops me.

“Say no more.” She cackles. “I saw Sebastian, and he looks almost as bad as you. You should have heard the heckling from DAC.”

I blink. “What? Who the hell is Dack?”

She shrugs. “Deacon-Alex-Charles. DAC. They’re like a three-headed monster, so I nicknamed them.”

It’s so… Vera that I dissolve into giggles, leaning on the doorframe for support. “So you’re not mad at me?” I ask when I can breathe again.

She cocks an eyebrow. “I’m super fucking mad at you, actually. Did you forget the calendars on our phones are linked?”

I frown in confusion. Then it hits me. “Oh, God. The appointment.”

“Yes, dummy, the appointment you made a week ago. And I quote, ‘Boob Biopsy. FML.’ Seriously? Why would you keep that from me?” She shakes her head before I can fumble for an answer. “You know what? I get it. And it doesn’t matter. But FYI, I’m going to be painting my nails in the waiting room. DAC and your Italian Stallion are coming. Your dad and Nona, too. Basically, you’re fucked on the privacy front from here until eternity.”

I stare blankly at her for so long that she tilts her head, frowning. “Are you stroking out or something?”

My laugh is shrill, well across the border of hysteria. But as Vera grabs me into a hug, mumbling that I stink of sex but she still loves me, I realize the news hasn’t brought any panic or fear with it.

I’m okay. Relieved, actually. Accepting and grateful for the support of my family.

Oddly—unreservedly—at peace.

* * *

Nona’s Thanksgiving spread is the stuff dreams are made of. Besides the ginormous, sage-brined turkey that Martha Stewart would cream over, there are platters and bowls galore. All homemade and boasting super-secret-recipe status. Among them are her signature gravy, sweet potato purée, and parmesan-crusted Brussels sprouts. There are three different salads. Fresh-baked rosemary and butter rolls, ciabatta and sausage stuffing, and an apple-cranberry relish. The dessert offerings, displayed behind us on a side table, are a whole other ballgame.

“This is insane,” murmurs Vera as she pours gravy over a mountain of perfectly creamy mashed potatoes. “I might quit modeling and ask Nona if I can be her food taster for life. She should be famous. Have a cooking show called Nona’s Nom Noms.”

I choke on a sip of champagne, almost spraying my crowded plate. Conversation flows around me, each voice beloved. Though there are only nine of us, the table is set for ten. At the final setting—facing my father’s at the head of the table—instead of a plate there’s a portrait of Mom. Every year, we direct our toast to her empty spot.

As my gaze wanders around the table, my eyes grow misty. Thea, seated across from me, smiles softly when our gazes intersect. Ever sensitive and deeply perceptive, she gives me a little nod of acknowledgement. She feels it, too. The deep love and solidarity of our family.

I’m moments from full-blown sobs when my brother’s voices override the sentimental moment.

“Pass the beans, dickhead.”

“Take them if you want them so bad.”

“Your gigantic ego is in the way.”

“Children!”

“We’re grown men, Nona.”

“Then act like it.”

“Hopeless.”

“Where’s the salt and pepper?”

“Over there.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Next to the dude boning our sister.”

Seated on my left, Vera whispers, “Oh, snap.”

There’s a clatter of silverware. The table goes silent. Along with my racing heartbeat, the soft background music of piano and violin seems suddenly deafening. Sebastian’s fingers tighten on my knee, concealed by the tablecloth, and I look erratically around the room, searching for escape despite its impracticality.

Charles’ strained chuckle breaks the silence. “Just kidding. Ha ha.” He jerks in his seat, face scrunched in pain from whatever punishment Nona just administered beneath the table. Knowing her, it was a pinch.

With deceptive mildness, Benedict Hughes says, “Interesting choice of joke, Charles.” My father’s gaze veers to me, then to Sebastian. “Is there something I need to know?”

I’m paralyzed, mind completely blank. Thank God Sebastian has a black belt in improv, because he’s the picture of calm when he answers. “Yes, sir. I’m in love with your daughter and as soon as I’m sure she won’t throw the ring in my face, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“What?” I blurt, gaping at him, while the dining room erupts with cheers of congratulations—Nona, Vera, and Thea—and shouted expletives from Deacon and Charles. Alex just grins, smug and satisfied that he predicted this moment.

My father calmly wipes his mouth with a napkin, then places the linen carefully beside his plate. “Candace, are you in love with Sebastian?”

“Yes,” I say artlessly. “I have been for the last fifteen years, give or take.”

His face melts in shock. “Then why on earth have you waited this long?”