On thanksgiving, my uncle blocked the door and said, “you’re not family anymore — leave,” i saw my mom laughing behind him, handing my seat to my sister’s boyfriend; i just nodded, got back in my car… and sent the message i’d been saving for months; five minutes later, half the table stood up — and walked out.

We hadn’t spoken in almost a year.

He looked older than I remembered, gray creeping further into his beard, that familiar leather jacket a little more worn. He didn’t smile. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels like he didn’t know what to say.

“Hi,” he finally muttered.

“Didn’t expect to see you,” I said, stepping aside, but not exactly welcoming him in.

He hesitated, then walked in.

I watched him scan the apartment—clean, quiet, filled with small things that made me happy. The records on the shelf. The stack of books I actually had time to read now. The framed photo of Maya and me from the one Thanksgiving we snuck out and got burgers instead of dealing with the family circus.

“I saw the video,” he said. “Or clips of it. Your aunt sent it to me.”