studied my turkey, and released a long, disappointed sigh.
“Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose it’ll do.”
I looked at her.
Surely she had something else to say.
Perhaps she would thank me for getting up before sunrise.
Perhaps she’d ask whether preparing such a large bird had been difficult.
Perhaps she’d simply acknowledge that I’d brought the main course for her family’s celebration.
But Brenda turned away as though the matter were settled.
And suddenly, something inside me changed.
For seven years, I’d been preparing excuses for their behavior.
