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.

I didn’t sit alone.

I spent it with Maya and a few of our mutual friends. We made dinner together in her apartment, lit candles, played board games, and exchanged gifts that didn’t need to impress anyone.

It was the warmest holiday I’d had in years.

Around midnight, Maya poured us each a glass of wine and sat beside me on the floor, pulling a blanket over our legs.

“They called me,” she said softly.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Damage control.”

She nodded.

“Your mom said I was choosing sides. That I was tearing the family apart.”

“You are,” I said. “The part that needed to be torn down.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder.

“She also said something else. That she was going to set the record straight.”

I sighed. “Of course she is.”

The next morning, I found out what she meant.

My mom wrote a long post on Facebook.