THANKSGIVING EVE. AVA'S POV.
The yellow glow of the streetlamps hummed over the quiet block of my street as the Uber's brakes squealed to a halt. The air outside the window looked crisp, smelling of woodsmoke and the sharp, metallic tang of an approaching New York winter.
"Thank you," I murmured, my words puffing into a faint cloud of frost as I pushed the door open.
"Please don't forget to leave a good review," the driver called out. I caught his eyes flickering toward me in the rearview mirror as I stepped out onto the cracked asphalt.
"I will," I promised, circling the car toward the back.
The trunk hissed open with a mechanical groan, revealing my suitcase lying solitary in the carpeted cavern. I hoisted it out, the weight pulling at my shoulder, and clicked the lid shut with a soft, final 'thud.' The rhythmic 'clack-clack-clack' of the wheels echoed against the brownstone facades as I started up the sidewalk toward the stoop.
"Ava? Is that you?"
I paused, glancing toward the neighboring porch. Ms. Magret stood there, wrapped in a thick wool cardigan, clutching a leash as her husky sniffed around the frozen flowers just below. A broad, genuine smile crinkled her eyes.
"It is!" I called back, my own face brightening for the first time since I'd left my dorm.
"Welcome home! I had begun to worry maybe you weren't coming for Thanksgiving."
"Of course I would," I laughed, tugging my bag toward the concrete steps of my house.
"It's nice to see you. When you're settled, I want you to come over. I have something for you," she called out.
"I will!" I shouted back, finally reaching the front door.
My heart did a nervous little flutter against my ribs. I reached for the brass handle, twisting it.
It didn't budge. The deadbolt was thrown tight.
My brow furrowed. I raised my hand and gave three soft, tentative knocks. Silence. Only the sound of a distant siren on Jamaica Avenue answered me. I knocked again, my knuckles sharper this time, the sound echoing through the heavy wood.
"Yes? Who's there?" My father's voice drifted from the other side— muffled, gruff, and stripped of any festive cheer.
"It's me, Ava!" I called out.
A heavy, suffocating silence followed. I held my breath, my hand still hovering near the door. After a long five seconds, I heard the metallic 'clack' of the lock turning. It felt like a gunshot in the quiet evening.
The door creaked open only halfway. My father stood in the gap, his frame blocking the light of the hallway. He didn't step back. He didn't reach for my bag. Instead, he raised a single, judgmental eyebrow, his jaw set like granite.
"What are you doing here?"
My smile didn't just fade; it dropped. I felt my stomach sink. "I came for Thanksgiving."
"What?" His expression remained unreadable, his eyes cold and distant. "Didn't you get the message I sent through your mom?"
My mouth parted, but no words came out. The cold from the street seemed to seep through my coat and settle deep in my marrow.
"You'll have to go back to your school," he said, his face squeezing into a mask of hard, uncompromising lines. "Because I won't allow you in here."
"It's late," I whispered, my voice trembling as I glanced back at the dark, empty street behind me. "I can't go back now."
"I don't care. You should have thought about that before coming." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. "It's time you know actions have consequences."
"Honey, let's allow her in. She's already here."
The intervention came from the shadows behind him. The door opened fully, revealing my mom standing in the hallway, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
My father let out a sharp, disgusted hiss. He shook his head— a gesture of pure disappointment— and retreated into the house, leaving the path clear.
"Thank you, Mom," I whispered, my voice thick.
I stepped over the threshold, pulling my suitcase into the narrow hallway and shutting the door gently. The click of the latch sounded final. My mother didn't acknowledge me; she didn't even look my way. She simply turned and walked away.