Gabe sat at the head of the table, as if by accident and tradition at the same time, fielding questions and answering emails while trying to eat.
“How many crises have you solved today, Mr. Mayor?” Suzie asked.
Shoulders lowering, he sighed. “Define crisis.”
Nate, his younger brother, who I’d learned co-owned a brewery on the outskirts of town, joined in. “She means how many times have you been cornered in the grocery store and forced to listen to complaints about parking spaces?”
“Or tree trimming ordinances,” Mel added.
“Three,” he groused. “I didn’t even make it to the frozen food aisle before I’d had enough and checked out, and I really wanted to pick up a few of those frozen acai bowls I like to eat for breakfast.”
“Then you saved a cat, right?” Jenn teased. “And finished off the day by balancing the budget and fixing the broken stop light?”
“You’ll have to excuse my oldest son,” Suzie said to me. “He skipped childhood and went straight to responsibility.”
“It’s just the job,” Gabe muttered, stabbing a roasted potato with his fork. “And you don’t get to make fun of me.” He pointed the utensil at his brother. “Not all of us get to sit around making beer all day.”
“It’s a valuable public service,” Nate quipped.
Ed cleared his throat. “You didn’t have to run for mayor.”
Gabe huffed. “You raised me to be like this.”
“We warned you.” Ed chuckled. “You didn’t listen.”
Laughter ripped across the table, easy and warm. The kind that didn’t require checking the room first to make sure it was safe. This was so different from what I was used to. After Mom died, we never had family dinner, and Phyllis made every family gathering miserable with her demands and constant judgment.
It felt like I’d wandered into the wrong house and been offered a seat anda plate anyway.
Midway through the meal, Josh cleared his throat. He was different today. His movements were unhurried, practiced. He listened and asked questions and teased his sister and his cousins.
“I’d like to um, propose a toast,” he said, raising his glass.
Everyone followed suit, Julian even holding up his mostly empty cup of cider.
“At Sunday dinners, we raise a glass to my parents. James and Louise. Dad used to say that Sundays were for football and Mom said that they were actually for feeding people.” He swallowed heavily. “I miss them both so much. But I know they’d be happy to see us gathered around their table today.”
My heart swelled as we all clinked glasses. My kids were so comfortable here. Maggie was siphoning as much of Suzie’s horse knowledge as her little brain could handle while Julian chatted with Josh.
Ellie was quiet as usual, though when Gabe mentioned Lover’s Leap Park, she perked right up.
“I’ve got the zoning board screaming at me to expand the parking lot. And a whole group of people threatening revolt if we don’t replace the metal slides.”
“That park is pointless,” my oldest daughter said, meeting Gabe’s eye.
The table quieted.
“Ellie,” I said gently, my stomach sinking.
“No. Listen.” She put her fork down and sat straighter. “It’s not close to the elementary school and the playground is outdated and not handicap assessable.”
Gabe leaned forward, his eyes bright with curiosity.
“But it’s within walking distance of the junior high andhigh schools. Don’t add more parking. Older kids need outdoor space too.”
He hummed. “What would you suggest?”
“Get rid of the old dangerous playground, add another basketball court closer to main street. Add lights. Benches. Maybe one of those outdoor fitness courses.”