Mira woke early on December 25th, her father's birthday and Christmas morning all rolled into one. The house was still quiet, but she could hear her mother moving around downstairs.
In the kitchen, Estelle was already pulling out mixing bowls.
"Mom, go back to bed. I've got this."
"You don't have to cook all day—"
"I want to." Mira tied on an apron. "I spent years cooking for people who never appreciated it. Today is for someone who deserves it."
Estelle's eyes misted, but she nodded and squeezed Mira's hand before retreating.
Mira cooked. She roasted a massive turkey with herb butter and citrus. She made her father's favorite sage and sausage stuffing from scratch. She whipped potatoes until they were clouds, glazed carrots with honey and thyme, baked rolls that filled
