“It’s good to finally meet you,” he says, voice warm but carrying the kind of weight that makes me want to stand a little straighter.
“You too, sir,” I manage, grateful for the approval tucked in his tone.
The whirlwind continues as Ivy gets pulled deeper into the house, swallowed up by laughter and chatter. I follow, my pulse still quick from the introductions, and nearly collide with a woman holding the hand of a little girl.
“Oops—sorry,” I say quickly.
The woman smiles, tilting her head. Her resemblance to Ivy is unmistakable. “You must be Gray. I’m Sarah—her sister.” She shifts, gesturing to the little girl peeking shyly from behind her leg. “And this is Kate.”
Kate’s big eyes study me like she’s not sure what to make of me. I crouch a little, offering a smile. “Hi, Kate. I like your bow.”
Her fingers tighten around Sarah’s hand, but a tiny grin tugs at her mouth.
Sarah’s eyes soften. “She’s not usually this shy. Guess you made an impression already.”
I laugh under my breath, straightening. “Hopefully a good one.”
Her smile is knowing, it makes me wonder how much Ivy’s already told her. “Yeah,” she says. “A good one.”
And just like that, I’m folded into the chaos of Ivy’s family, my heart pounding in the best possible way.
It’s chaos. Absolute, beautiful chaos—voices overlapping, the smell of something sweet baking, kids darting between legs, someone shouting for more ice.
I never had a Thanksgiving like this growing up. Sure, I’ve experienced real holidays with Micah’s family, with their kindness and traditions that made me feel welcome.
But this?
This feels different.
It feels like home.
By the time I meet everyone and we all gather in the dining room, it’s a sea of folding chairs, mismatched plates, and homemade name tags scrawled in crayon. Ivy squeezes in next to me, her shoulder pressed to mine as the food makes its way to the table.
I rise slowly from my seat, Ivy’s eyes flicking up to mine with a questioning smile. “Before we dig in,” I say, voice steady, “if it’s okay, I’d be honored to lead us in prayer.”
Everyone quiets, eyes on me. I glance at Ivy—she nods, steady and encouraging.
I stand slowly and clear my throat. “Lord,” I begin, voice low but firm, “thank You for this day. For this family. For joy that spills over, and for love that fills every corner of this house.”
I pause, heart tightening. “Thank You for the grace that meets us where we are, for the peace You offer even in the unknown. And thank You…for Ivy, and her wonderful family.”
I glance at her again, and she’s already looking at me with a softness I’ll never get over.
“In Jesus’s name, amen.”
“Amen!” echoes around the table, followed by applause, laughter, and a chorus of “Let’s eat!”
And as the plates are passed, kids yell for rolls, and conversations bloom around the table, I take a moment to look around.
This isn’t just Ivy’s world.
It’s a world I want to be part of.
The noise of the house fades into the background as I step onto the back porch, the screen door creaking behind me. The late afternoon sun hangs low, spilling gold across the yard, and the air has that November bite—just chilly enough to make me wish I’d grabbed a hoodie.
I press a hand to my stomach with a laugh. I’m so full I’m not sure I’ll ever eat again. Inside, the clatter of cards hitting the kitchen table carries through the open window—everyone diving into a game, laughter and voices overlapping in a rhythm I’m still learning to keep up with.
I needed a breather. Not in a bad way—just long enough to catch up on all the love.
