Chapter 7 - The Sunday Table
By Sunday afternoon, the Carter household was filled with the warm, chaotic energy of an extended family gathering.
Aunts, uncles, and cousins were packed into the living room, watching the Cincinnati Bengals on the widescreen television, while the scent of baked ham, scalloped potatoes, and warm yeast rolls filled every corner of the house.
Emma sat beside me on the piano bench in the corner of the dining room.
Underneath the overhanging hem of the tablecloth, her fingers were tightly laced through mine, her thumb rhythmically stroking the side of my palm.
Every time our eyes met across the crowded room, a small, secret smile passed between us—a silent, thrilling declaration of a war that had finally ended in unconditional surrender.
Mrs. Carter walked into the room carrying a massive silver platter, setting it in the center of the mahogany table.
"Alright, everyone! Settle down!" she announced, wiping her hands on her apron. "Before we eat, Emma has an announcement to make about her promotion in Chicago."
The room quieted down, twenty pairs of eyes turning expectantly toward the piano bench.
Emma felt her hand tense inside mine.
I gently squeezed her fingers, giving her that steady, immovable nod that had anchored her through her mother’s illness and college exams.
Emma took a deep breath, stood up from the bench, and smoothed down the front of her dark green sweater.
"Actually, Mom," Emma spoke, her voice clear, steady, and radiant with a peace she hadn't carried in years. "I’m not taking the senior partnership at the firm."
A collective gasp rippled through the older relatives. Mrs. Carter’s wooden spoon hovered in mid-air.
"Emma Jean?" her mother gasped, her eyes wide. "What do you mean? You worked so hard for that partnership!"
"I did, Mom," Emma said gently, looking around the room at the people who had raised her. "And I loved the work. But I realized that I don't want to build a life in Chicago anymore. I resigned from the firm on Friday."
"Where are you going to work?" Mr. Carter asked, lowering his glasses, his tone concerned but supportive.
Emma turned her head, looking straight down at me with eyes so full of light that my breath hitched in my throat.
"I’m moving back to Ohio," Emma said, reaching down and pulling me up to stand beside her. "I’m opening an independent interior architectural studio in the historic district of Milford. And I’m partnering with Cole Custom Woodworking."
Daniel let out a loud, obnoxious cheer from the sofa, pumping his fist into the air. "Boom! I told you, Dad! Hand over the twenty bucks!"
Mrs. Carter looked from Emma’s glowing face down to our interlaced hands.
May you like
Her eyes softened, tears welling in the corners of her smile as she set her spoon down and walked across the room, wrapping both of us in a fierce, lemon-scented embrace.
"It took you two long enough," she whispered against my cheek.
