Chapter 7 - Clearing the Air
The collective exhale that swept through the living room felt like a physical wave. The invisible weight that had anchored itself to our Thanksgiving celebration finally dissolved into the ambient crackle of the fireplace.
Dad walked over to the dry bar in the corner, pulled down a bottle of vintage bourbon that usually stayed locked away for monumental family milestones, and poured four generous fingers into heavy crystal tumblers. He walked over, handing one to Evan, one to me, and keeping the last for himself.
He raised his glass toward me, his weathered face creased with a deep, proud smile.
“To the computer guy,” Dad said, his voice ringing with quiet reverence. “Who knew a little networking could save the entire family from a white-collar predator.”
We all clinked our glasses together. The rich, amber liquid burned pleasantly on the way down, cutting through the lingering chill of the evening.
Karen leaned over, resting her chin on my shoulder. “So, Mr. Cyber Defense,” she whispered playfully in my ear. “Does this mean I have to stop calling you my sweet, unassuming computer geek and start treating you like an international man of mystery?”
“Only if you promise to keep making fun of my flannel shirts,” I whispered back, kissing the top of her head.
Paige slowly stood up from the loveseat, clutching her blanket around her shoulders like a cloak. She walked over to where I was sitting, her expression solemn, vulnerable, and entirely stripped of the old condescension that had defined our sibling dynamic for years.
“Zach,” she said quietly, her voice steady. “I am so, so sorry. For everything tonight. For the way I talked about your work, for bringing that monster into our home, and for acting like—like I was somehow better than you because I sold pharmaceuticals and wore heels.”
I looked up at her, seeing the genuine remorse in her eyes. All the petty grievances, the snide remarks, and the family friction evaporated in an instant. She was my sister, she had made a terrible mistake, and she had just paid a devastating emotional price for it.
“Water under the bridge, Paige,” I said, standing up to pull her into a tight, reassuring hug. “Just promise me one thing.”
She buried her face against my shoulder, her voice muffled. “What’s that?”
“Next time you bring a guy home for Thanksgiving, let me run a background check *before* he starts carving the turkey.”
May you like
Paige let out a sudden, genuine laugh—the first real laugh she had shared all evening. It was a sound of absolute release.
Evan raised his glass toward us, a smirk playing on his lips. “Seconded. Next year, mandatory background screenings for all significant others, executed by the resident network administrator.”
