Without traffic my parent's house is about six and a half hours away from ours. If we both lived near airports it would be such a quick and easy flight. But of course the small town where I grew up is about a ninety minute drive away from the nearest commercial airport, and now that Tiff and I live in the 'burbs, we're about an hour from the city's airport. Put that together with the time it takes to check-in and go through security, then disembark and go rent a car or find a cab, it's a helluva lot easier to drive.

At least that's true when it's not the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.

By the time my parent's Corolla Hybrid pulls into our driveway we're cleaning up the kids' dinner and my belly is grumbling for our food, which is still waiting under aluminum foil.

"Hi sweetie, I have to pee," my mother practically bursts through the door.

"Jesus Christ my knees are sore from sitting. Ten hours. Ten hours! Boy am I glad to see you." My dad hugs me. "Are those my babies!" His attention is quickly averted towards the excited toddlers who have ditched their toys in the living room and are now rushing into his arms.

"Wash your hands first, Dad, it's flu season," I remind him so that Tiffany won't have to.

"Of course, of course." He kicks off his shoes and heads over to the kitchen sink.

I do my best to hold back Spencer and Nora as he lathers and rinses, but they are excitedly wiggling, bursting at the seams to see their Gammy and Gramps.

My mother emerges from the bathroom a minute later, carrying her shoes. "Sorry, I just rushed in and forgot to take them off," she explains, looking at Tiffany rather than me.

"Oh my God, don't worry about it, Judy" Tiffany goes to take my mother's shoes and give her a hug.

By now the kids are crawling all over my father, but with my mom on the scene, they turn their attention to her.

"Hey, don't be too rough with Gammy and Gramps. They're getting old," I mock-scold the kids.

"Oh, we're not that old." My mom laughs, picking up Nora and placing her on her hip and walking towards the living room to take a seat on the couch.

Nora happily reaches for the end of the braid in my mom's long graying hair. "Tika-tika!" Nora laughs, ticking her nose with the tip of the braid.

"Oh, you're so silly," my mom baby-talks back.

My dad picks up Spencer and joins my mother on the couch. "Speak for yourself. I am getting pretty old. I've even chosen a retirement date," he announces.

"Wow, that's exciting! When?" I ask, following them into the living room.

"February 2nd, 2020. It's an eight-digit palindrome! First one in over nine-hundred years. Isn't that the perfect date for an accountant to retire?"

He says it with such enthusiasm that I almost laugh. I think he's even more excited by the palindrome than by the prospect of retirement. "That is pretty amazing! And so soon. Actually, I'm jealous, I want to retire, too." I take a seat next to my dad.

With my arrival, Spencer scoots off of my father's lap and goes back to the pile of hand-me-down action figures and Barbies that they had been playing with before the grandparents arrived.

"No you don't. You go a little crazy every summer. You like working. Always have." My dad slaps my back.

He's right. I do like getting out of the house.

"A retirement date? Congrats, Frank," Tiffany says from across the kitchen island. "You guys must be starving. Dinner's all ready. Just give me a minute to get everything on the table."

"Can I help with anything?" my mom asks, continuing to bounce Nora on her knee.

"No! Please! You were just stuck in a car for ten hours. Enjoy the kids," Tiffany instructs as she peels off the aluminum foil from the roasting pan and grabs the glass corningware of polenta from the warming drawer. "Hun, can you please get everyone drinks?"

"Oh yeah, sure, of course," I respond. "What do you guys want? Water? Beer? I think we have some lemonade left, too."

"Oh, just water, please," says Mom.

"After all that traffic? A beer sounds great. Thanks," my dad answers. Spencer tugs my dad's hand, and my dad obliges, slipping off the couch and sitting on the floor. Spencer has chosen a mermaid Barbie that lights up and is showing it to my dad. "Wow, does that turn pink and green?"

"And this one is purple," my son proudly proclaims, handing my father a different doll.

My dad and son playing Barbies– I almost want to take a picture and frame it. I wonder what Marty would say.

After a few more minutes the table is set for round two of dinner and we all make our way to the table. Tiffany has made plates of dessert for the kids: a small bowl of chocolate ice cream for Nora and a snack-bag of Nilla wafers with a side of vanilla icing for Spencer.

"Smells delicious, dear," I compliment the chef, looking at the platters of pork loin, savory polenta, roasted zucchini with onions, and an arugula salad.

"This looks amazing. I told you this one was a keeper," my dad elbows me as he makes a plate and digs in.

For a few minutes no one speaks. The kids are slurping their sugar, and the adults are transfixed by the gourmet spread that Tiffany threw together.

"So, how's work?" my mother breaks the silence.

Tiffany glances at me. She knows that I haven't exactly been honest with my parents about everything that has been going on. I'm never one to rock the boat.

"Fine," I say, but my voice raises at the end, making it sound more like a question.

"Not exactly fine," Tiffany helpfully adds.

"Well, nothing bad," I defend my original assessment. "Just been a bit interesting with Blake, that's all."

"He outed himself to Blake's mother at conferences." I can tell Tiffany is trying to keep her tone neutral, steady, but to me it sounds judgmental.

My mother is mid-bite, so it takes a moment for her to respond, but she nods with approval. "I bet that was such a relief to her."

"Mm-hmm," Dad agrees.

"Yeah, she was definitely happy that Blake has an adult role model." I take another forkful of the zucchini and onions side dish. God it's good.

"I hope she has support, also. Being members of PFLAG was such a blessing," my mom continues.

I try to catch Tiffany's expression, but her attention is on the kids. Nora has managed to get ice cream on her forehead and Spencer keeps dipping the same cookie into his icing dip over and over. His hands are crusted with sugar and he'll need a good scrubbing before he can touch anything without leaving sticky fingerprints.

"She mentioned something about attending a support group with Blake. He's so young, I assume she meets with the other parents when he meets with kids his age, but I guess I didn't really ask."

"So ... I assume you also told Blake?" My dad asks.

"Uh, yes," I admit.

"And his principal," Tiffany chimes in.

Thanks, sweetie.

"Oh, how'd that go?" asks Dad.

"Actually, pretty good." I don't elaborate. Instead I take a large bite of pork.

"You know that I always say that honesty is the best policy," says my mom. "Secrets have a way of coming out at inconvenient times."

Tiffany coughs, almost choking.

I don't know if my mom has realized what she has just said. The day before Thanksgiving. Which she is having with my in-laws. None of whom know that I am trans.

As we finish up dinner I can't help but feel anxious about tomorrow. How epic of a disaster will this turkey day be?