I picked up my phone and opened the family thread.

The last message in it was mine.

Sunday afternoon, a question about who wanted dark meat on Christmas Eve, and under it, nothing.

“Gemma.

If there’s a new thread for the trip, I’d like to be on it.”

She turned her phone face down on the counter, screen to the granite, and gave me the full smile.

“There isn’t one, sweetie.

The boys started something about drive times and it died off.