Chapter 1: The Joke at the Thanksgiving Table
“Tell Ryan about your important military job, Avery,” Madison said, raising her wineglass with a smile sharp enough to cut through the holiday silence.
“Especially the part where taxpayers pay you to play video games.””
My father laughed before I could answer.
It was not a nervous laugh or the polite chuckle of someone trying to ease an awkward moment.
It was loud.
Comfortable.
The kind of laugh that told everyone at the table that Madison had said exactly what she was supposed to say.
I stared at the plate in front of me, watching the gravy slowly spread into the mashed potatoes. For a moment, I considered putting down my fork and leaving.
I had spent twelve years in the United States Air Force learning how to remain calm under pressure, how to make decisions when seconds mattered, and how to keep my emotions from interfering with a mission.
Apparently, none of that training had prepared me for Thanksgiving dinner with my family.
Across the table, Ryan Mercer lowered his fork.
He had been introduced to me barely an hour earlier, and I could already tell he was trying to figure out whether Madison was always like this or whether I had somehow earned her particular attention.
Madison leaned toward him.
“She's been so mysterious about everything,” she continued.
“You'd think she couldn't talk about her job without getting somebody arrested.””
“Madison,” Mom murmured.
“What? I'm curious.””
I lifted my eyes.
“I teach pilots when I'm stateside.””
Madison immediately turned to Ryan.
“See? That's what I mean. She makes it sound like she's running some secret government operation.””
Dad chuckled into his wineglass.
“Nothing wrong with being an instructor,” he said.
“It's respectable work.””
I looked at him.
“I never said otherwise.””
His smile faltered for half a second.
“Then why do you sound upset?””
“Because you're all discussing my career as if I'm not sitting here.””
Madison's eyebrows shot up.
“Oh, come on. It was a joke.””
There it was.
The sentence she had used since we were children.
It always arrived after she had embarrassed me, never before. Somehow, the insult became harmless the moment I reacted to it.
If I stayed quiet, she won.
If I defended myself, I became the problem.
And if I walked away, my parents spent the next several days explaining how I had ruined a perfectly good family gathering.
I had learned the rules a long time ago.
I just hadn't learned how to stop playing by them.
The dining room smelled of roasted turkey, cinnamon, butter, and onions. Mom had spent two days preparing the meal, and she had done everything possible to make the house feel warm and welcoming.
The white linen tablecloth was freshly ironed.
The silverware was polished.
The candles had been arranged in the center of the table, their flames reflecting against the crystal glasses.
Everything looked beautiful.
Nobody seemed particularly interested in eating.
Ryan shifted in his chair.
“Do you enjoy your work?”” he asked me.
It was such an ordinary question that I almost didn't know how to answer it.
Madison sighed dramatically.
“Oh, Ryan. Don't encourage her. We'll be here all night.””
He ignored her.
“I was asking Avery.””
I studied him for a moment.
“Yes,” I said.
“I do.””
“What do you like about it?””
I glanced at Madison.
She was watching me with the expression she wore whenever somebody showed me even the smallest amount of attention.
“I like seeing people improve,” I said.
“Especially when they learn to recognize a bad decision before making it.””
Ryan nodded thoughtfully.
“That makes sense.””
“It's rewarding.””
“I imagine it is.””
Madison set down her wineglass.
“Wow. You two really know how to party.””
Dad laughed again.
Mom immediately reached for the stuffing bowl and offered it to me.
I accepted a small spoonful, mostly because I knew she wanted me to.
Her fingers brushed mine.
She gave me a quick, pleading look.
Please don't make this worse.
I knew that look better than I knew my own reflection.
It had followed me through birthday dinners, Christmas mornings, graduations, and every other occasion when Madison decided my discomfort was an acceptable price for her entertainment.
My mother never asked Madison to stop humiliating me with the same urgency she used to ask me not to react.
Somewhere along the way, keeping the peace had become my responsibility.
And Madison had learned that she could do almost anything as long as she smiled afterward.
“So,” Dad said, clearing his throat, “I'm glad you could make it home this year.””
“Me too.””
“You almost missed another holiday.””
“I know.””
“Your mother was worried.””
Mom lowered her eyes.
“I knew she was trying,” she said softly.
Dad shrugged.
“Still. Thanksgiving is Thanksgiving.””
I nodded.
There was no point explaining that my schedule wasn't something I could rearrange because my father wanted everyone around the same table.
There was no point discussing the assignments that had kept me away, the training schedules that changed without warning, or the responsibilities that sometimes made a holiday dinner feel like a luxury.
Madison had already decided what my job was.
Dad had accepted her version because it required less effort than understanding mine.
I was thirty-four years old.
I had served in the United States Air Force for twelve years.
And sitting at that table, I felt like a teenager being asked to explain why her life had not turned out the way her father expected.
The oven timer began beeping in the kitchen.
Nobody moved.
Madison reached for the cranberry sauce.
“So, Ryan, you haven't told Avery much about yourself.””
“I've told her a little.””
“Not the interesting parts.””
Ryan placed his knife beside his plate.
“Those aren't always dinner stories.””
Dad leaned forward eagerly.
“That's what I keep telling him. We haven't heard half of what he's done.””
Ryan offered an uncomfortable smile.
“I'd rather hear about your family.””
Madison laughed.
“Careful what you wish for.””
Then she turned toward me.
I knew what was coming before she opened her mouth.
“So, Avery,” she said, “how does it feel being the family's professional video game player?””
Mom's water glass made a faint clicking sound against her plate.
“Madison, that's enough.””
“I'm complimenting her!””
“You've made your point.””
“I'm just saying those simulators cost millions of dollars, don't they?””
I set down my fork.
“They're important training systems.””
“Exactly. Very expensive video games.””
Dad smiled into his drink.
Ryan didn't.
His gaze moved between us, and something about the way he watched the exchange made me pause.
He wasn't looking at me with pity.
He wasn't laughing.
He was observing.
I recognized that kind of silence. It belonged to people who had learned that the first explanation they heard wasn't always the truth.
“Flight simulation saves lives,” I said.
Madison nodded theatrically.
“Absolutely. Nobody wants the pretend airplane to crash.””
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.
I could have explained emergency-response evaluations, cockpit discipline, decision-making under pressure, and the limits of human performance.
I could have told her that mistakes made in a simulator could prevent tragedies in the air.
I could have explained that training was often the difference between a pilot recognizing an emergency and freezing when it mattered most.
But Madison wasn't asking because she wanted to understand.
She was waiting for another sentence she could turn against me.
“It's useful work,” I said instead.
Dad nodded approvingly.
“That's the right attitude.””
Something tightened beneath my ribs.
I hadn't asked for his approval.
Yet he spoke as though I had finally accepted a modest position in life and learned to stop pretending it mattered.
Ryan looked at Dad.
Then he looked back at me.
“What kind of pilots do you teach?””
For the first time that evening, I considered giving someone a real answer.
Before I could speak, my phone vibrated once inside my jacket pocket.
A single vibration.
Not a call.
Not an ordinary message notification.
I knew the pattern because I had heard it during training, during briefings, and on nights when a quiet room suddenly became the most important place in the world.
My expression remained unchanged.
I kept my hands beneath the table.
Nobody else seemed to notice.
Nobody except Ryan.
His eyes dropped briefly toward my jacket before returning to my face.
I excused myself, walked into the hallway, and checked the secure notification on my phone.
The message contained only a short operational update and a request to confirm my availability.
No names.
No unnecessary details.
Nothing that would mean anything to someone outside my professional world.
I acknowledged it, secured the phone, and returned to the dining room.
Madison was already talking.
“See? Mysterious again.””
I pulled out my chair.
“Sorry.””
“Government secrets?””
“Something like that.””
She laughed, pleased that she had another joke.
Dad shook his head with an indulgent smile.
“Your sister always has to make everything dramatic.””
I looked at him.
For one brief moment, I wondered what he would say if he knew how many times I had been responsible for keeping other people alive while he was telling relatives I played computer games.
Then I pushed the thought away.
My career was not a weapon to use against my family.
My accomplishments did not become more valuable because Madison underestimated them.
And I didn't need to expose confidential details to prove that my work mattered.
But as I picked up my fork, Ryan leaned slightly toward me.
His voice was low enough that nobody else could hear.
“Those weren't ordinary messages, were they?””
I froze for half a second.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
I turned toward him carefully.
“What makes you say that?””
Ryan glanced at Madison, who was laughing at something Dad had said.
Then he looked directly into my eyes.
“Because I've seen that expression before.””
I didn't answer.
May you like
He leaned back in his chair, leaving the question between us.
And for the first time that evening, I wondered whether the man Madison had brought home for Thanksgiving knew far more about my world than anyone at my family's table could possibly imagine.
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