Soon, the house filled with relatives, warm voices, and the smell of food.
Mason wore a navy blazer. Noah kept tugging at his collar like it was choking him.
“Stop fussing with it,” I said, smoothing his shirt.
“Aunt, I’m eighteen now,” Noah said, stepping back. “You don’t have to do that anymore.”
His tone felt strange, but I ignored it.
I told myself new adults always sounded awkward when trying to act grown.
During dinner, Mason raised his glass.
“We just want to thank everyone for coming,” he said. “Especially the woman who raised us.”
Everyone softened.
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