Jenna moved beside my son’s birthday cake, waving both hands like she was suddenly in charge

The vintage sedan and Rick’s rusted sedan were both parked tightly in my mother’s driveway. When I pulled my car in behind them, I noticed the front living room windows had their blinds slightly cracked open, as if someone was eagerly watching for our arrival.

I turned to Oliver, who was happily humming a video game tune in the passenger seat. "Hey, buddy. Remember, if things get loud or weird inside, you and Dad are just going to walk right back out to the car and go get ice cream. Sound good?"

Oliver blinked his big brown eyes, nodding seriously. "Is Aunt Jenna going to scream again?"

"Maybe," I said, putting my hand on his small shoulder. "Just remember, whatever happens in that house, it has nothing to do with you. You're the best kid in the world, and I've got your back completely."

We stepped out of the car and walked up the front steps. Before I could even raise my hand to knock, the front door swung wide open.

My mother stood in the entryway, wearing her best Sunday hosting smile, though her eyes looked tense and calculating. Behind her in the dining room, I could instantly see the entire assembly: Aunt Susan, two cousins from out of town, and tucked away near the kitchen archway, Jenna and Rick, looking smug and rehearsed.

"Nathan! Oliver! You came!" Mother chirped, stepping forward to pull Oliver into an overly dramatic hug. Oliver stiffened slightly before stepping back.

"Happy Sunday, Mom," I said smoothly, walking past her into the foyer without taking off my jacket. I didn't wait to be invited; I walked straight into the dining room, pulling out a chair at the head of the table for Oliver and standing firmly beside him.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The polite, forced smiles dropped away, replaced by heavy, expectant tension.

"Glad you could make it, Nate," Jenna said, stepping out from the kitchen. She wasn't wearing motel-wear anymore; she was dressed in her Sunday best, holding a printed manila folder in her hands like a prosecuting attorney. "Since everyone is already here, we figured it was time for a family meeting."

"A family meeting," I repeated, keeping my voice utterly calm. I didn't sit down. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked around the table at the sea of uncomfortable, watching faces. "Funny. I thought Mom said this was just a quiet Sunday dinner."

"Sometimes," my mother said, closing the front door and walking slowly to the head of the table, "family has to force us to do what's right when we've lost our way."