Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

The babble of conversation momentarily stumbled into silence as two dozen heads, Jane’s included, turned in unison towards the front hall. Down the other end of the table, Mr and Mrs Callaghan exchanged glances and everything seemed to pause – but a second later the moment passed and noise returned to the room as the guests picked up where they’d left off. Mr Callaghan rose quietly from his seat, almost unnoticed, and set off to answer the door. Jane watched him go, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Hi!” she heard Mr Callaghan say. There came a mumbled greeting in reply, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps moving down the hall. And then, with Mr Callaghan at his back, Jane’s father entered the room, and Jane knew that whatever part of this day she’d been able to enjoy was over.

He looked like he always did – a dishevelled mess. A leather-skinned, sunken-faced old man, with bags under his eyes and dirt under his fingernails, wearing a dusty brown coat and blue jeans, both faded and frayed. His hair was knotted, his stubble untouched and there was a glazed look in his eyes that Jane didn’t need ten years’ experience to recognise – she could smell the alcohol from across the room. Everyone looked at the newcomer in stunned silence.

“Hi,” he muttered, and there was a half-murmured echo from those seated around the table which faded almost as soon as it arose. If Jane’s father noticed the awkward silence, he didn’t care. He said nothing further, only stood there, staring down.

Mr Callaghan glanced worriedly from his wife to her father, then cleared his throat. “Ah, everyone, this is Jane’s dad, um…” He glanced at him, unsure.

“Peter,” murmured her father, eyes unfocused.

“Peter,” repeated Mr Callaghan, “Well, welcome, I, ah- why don’t you… I think there’s a spot down there with Jane.” He indicated the seat directly across from the empath. The sound of his daughter’s name seemed to pull Peter Walker from his reverie. He looked up, his grey bleary eyes traversing the length of the table. His face momentarily hardened.

“Thanks,” he muttered. He trudged over, the heavy clomp of his work boots the only sound in the room. Wordlessly, he dragged the seat out and slumped down into it, his hands laid in front of him. Jane sat opposite, her arms crossed, glowering.

The silence stretched outwards, all eyes on the downcast, dishevelled newcomer.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he murmured, not looking up, “The bus took a while.”

“It’s fine,” Mrs Callaghan assured him. She forced a smile. “I’m sorry we had to start without you. But please, dig in, there’s plenty left.” Jane’s father nodded and without making eye contact reached out and began slowly filling his plate. Across the room, Matt’s grandmother gave a small tut of disapproval, but Jane’s father didn’t seem to care, or notice.

For a few seconds, there was only more silence and the sound of her father chewing – but then around the table Matt turned to his mother and questioned what was in turkey stuffing, an aunt asked Sarah about school, and two of Mr Callaghan’s co-workers restarted talking about football. Slowly, the buzz of chatter began returning to the room as the guests lapsed back into conversation, with the sole exception of Jane and her father, who remained silent –the latter chewing with his head down, the former glaring at him, arms tightly crossed, her face hard and inscrutable.

The silence between them dragged on as the noise around them swelled. Finally, Jane broke it.

“Why didn’t you drive?” she growled, low enough to be discrete. Her father didn’t look up.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’ve got the truck, it would’ve been fine in the snow.”

“I said it doesn’t matter,” he said harder, cutting her off with a look. It was the first time since he’d sat down that their eyes had met. He turned away after a second. “It’s not important.”

Jane opened her mouth to argue, but was interrupted by a voice from the other end of the table.

“Well,” announced Mr Callaghan, rising to his feet and looking around at his guests with what was probably a genuine smile, “Now that we’re all here – and thank you all for coming – I think it’s time for our annual Thanksgiving tradition.” There were nods, murmurs of approval. “Each year,” Mr Callaghan continued, “We go around the room and get everyone to say a few words, just telling us what they’re thankful for.” He paused, still smiling. “I’ll start. I’m thankful for my health; my family’s safety, and that we can all sit here peacefully and enjoy such a fantastic meal.”

“Hear, hear,” someone called, and there was a smattering of applause. Mr Callaghan smiled down at his wife.

“I’m also thankful I’m married to an aquamorph who can do all the washing up.” The entire table laughed, and Mrs Callaghan fixed him a withering look, triggering more laughter. Mr Callaghan grinned and glanced over at his son. “Matty, your turn.”

Matt paused for a moment before answering. “I’m grateful for friends, for family and for free food,” he announced, to general sounds of agreement.

“It’s not free,” retorted Mrs Callaghan, shaking her head in mock disappointment, “Your father and I paid for it.” There was more laughter.

“I’m thankful it was you and not me!” called one particularly fat uncle.

“Alright, alright,” Mr Callaghan smiled, motioning down with his hands as the laughter subsided, “This is supposed to be serious. Let’s have one of our new guests say something. Jane, what’re you thankful for?”

All eyes turned to look at the empath, who recoiled slightly at being put on the spot. She strained her brain, trying to think. “Um…” she stammered, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes, “Well, um, I’m… thankful… for having me…” There was a scattering of murmured approvals and nods. Jane took heart and continued. “Um… I’m thankful for… for I guess, getting to be at the Academy, for the opportunities I’ve, uh, I’ve been given, and, um…” Captain Dawn’s faced flashed momentarily into her mind. “Just… yeah. That I get to be there. That they let me in.”

Everyone around the table gave a polite round of applause – everyone, that was, except her father, who simply sat there staring at his hands.

“What?” said Jane, as the applause died down. Her father just shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“What?” she repeated, suddenly angry, “Spit it out.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he murmured. The room had fallen silent, all eyes watching them.

“Jane, it’s fine, that was lovely,” Mrs Callaghan said hurriedly, trying to force a smile. She shot a worried glance between the two of them, “Peter, why don’t you tell us what you’re thankful for?”

For the longest time, Jane thought her father wasn’t going to speak – that he was just going to sit there, wordlessly, with that scrunched up beaten look on his face, staring at his hands. She couldn’t tell if he was lost in thought, a thousand miles away, or if he was still there figuring out an answer – or if he was just hallucinating, internally reeling from the drink. Finally, just when it seemed like he wasn’t going to say anything at all – when Mr Callaghan was casting concerned glances around the table, looking for someone to skip to, a way to break the awkward silence – her father sighed.

“What am I thankful for…?” he murmured, musing, weariness etched throughout his voice and face. Speaking more to himself than anyone. “What am I thankful for?” He paused, and gave another sigh. “I’m thankful I have a job. It’s not a good job – it’s got bad pay, bad hours, and everyone there hates me, because my daughter’s a-” He stopped and looked up at Jane with tired grey eyes. “But I’ve got a job, I guess. Pays the bills. Some of them. Pays rent, except when…”

He paused. Drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m thankful for the roof over my head,” he continued. Shut up, willed Jane, just shut up. Everyone was staring at him, the room dead silent, but he just kept going. “It isn’t much, but it’s more than some have, I guess. Not nice like this though.” His eyes wandered round the room, full of people and food, ornaments, pictures on the walls. “No friends or family, just me and…” He glanced across at Jane, and his voice trailed off.

“I’m thankful for my daughter,” he picked up again, “Thankful that she’s… she’s healthy… and that… and that…” He shook his head, struggling to speak. There were tears in his eyes and Jane would’ve given everything she had in that moment if he’d have just shut up. But he didn’t. “She looks so much like her mother, and she-” He stopped, the words choking in his throat. His eyes shut tight and his hand moved over his mouth. “Sorry, I’m-”

“Don’t,” warned Jane. He looked up at her as she glowered at him – and somehow the anger in her voice seemed to transfer through to his.

“I’m thankful for my daughter,” he repeated, tougher, coarser, into the terrible silence, “Thankful that she gets to go off and play superheroes in a castle, while I’m down here, in the real world, working my ass off, trying to scrape by. I’m thankful she’s out there having fun, throwing her powers around where everyone can see.” His eyes had turned to hard lines and his words were starting to slur. “Never thinking, never caring that everything she does makes my life a little worse.”

He laughed, high and cold, mirthless and terrible. “Because it’s true! It’s true! She gets in a fight, we gotta move. She pushes some kid, I’m outta work. She gets on TV, I can’t drive. Because of course it’s only fair, see, she’s my daughter, so while I’m up to my eyes scraping soot, they gotta get together and torch my truck. She’s gotta be in the Legion, so I’ve gotta lose. It’s only fair.”

No one moved, and no one spoke, and Jane’s father just kept on going.

“And I know…” he scrunched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, as though wracked by terrible pain, “I know it’s not your fault, and I know you didn’t ask for it, and I know, I know, but you still… you just…” His voice constricted and for a moment he seemed so frustrated, his hands clenched so tight around nothing that he couldn’t get the words out. “You just can’t… stay low, can you? Can’t just let things be, can’t keep your head down, always got to be out there, got to be pushing, trying to fight the world.”

“I’m not just going to roll over and die!” Jane shouted.

“That’s not what I-!” her father started to shout back, but then he stopped himself, shaking his head, raising his hands. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter what I mean. Doesn’t matter what I say, does it? What I do, what happens to me. None of it. Nothing matters, so long as you get to play hero.”

“Go to hell,” Jane muttered, and she meant it. Her father gazed at her, black bags under his eyes, cracked lips taunt.

“You know what? We’re talking about being thankful?” He shook his head. “I’m thankful that they took you. I’m grateful that you’re gone.” The words punched her in the guts, falling from her father’s mouth like the tears from his scrunched up eyes. “At least now I don’t have to see your face. At least now I don’t have to see…”

“Hey now, come on-” Mr Callaghan started, but her father was still shaking his head, not listening, blocking out anything but his truth.

“Every day. That’s what I’m grateful for. I’m thankful that I don’t have to see it every day, that, that… thing.” He pointed an unsteady finger at the mark on her cheek. “Every day. Reminding me what I lost, how he took her, how she…” He hiccoughed, choking. “How she died.”

“She was my mother,” whispered Jane, low and murderous.

“AND SHE WAS MY WIFE!” he roared, not just with his voice, drink and anger shaking his control, making the entire table jump, “And he killed her, killed a continent, and you walk around with his mark like you’re, like you’re… PROUD!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW HOW I FEEL!” Jane roared back, and she was on her feet, every muscle shaking, “YOU NEVER BOTHERED TO LOOK, NOT EVER, NOT ONCE!” She wanted to reach across the table, to grab him, to hit something, but her father was already standing up, stepping back, swaying unsteadily, his head shaking no-no-no-and-no in little twitches.

“I can’t do this,” he mumbled, red-eyed, constricted, bleary, “I can’t- I can’t, I just…”

He turned unsteadily to Mr and Mrs Callaghan. “Thank you for having me. You... you have a… a lovely home. I’m… I’m sorry. Happy Thanksgiving.” He stumbled backwards, his hands fiddling unsteadily with the sliding door. The latch flicked, the door slid open, and he staggered out into the snow, leaving heavy footprints.

“Dad!” shouted Jane, but he wasn’t listening and he didn’t turn around.

“Dad!” she called again – but he turned a corner and was gone.

For a moment, Jane just stood there, feeling everyone’s eyes burning into her. They were all looking at her, staring, with disgust and contempt and pity and she had to… needed to… couldn’t…

“Bye,” she said abruptly, and before anyone could protest she was striding off, away down the hallway, not looking at any of them, lacing up her shoes with shaking, raging fingers. There were wary footsteps behind her but she didn’t need them, she didn’t need anything, she just needed to be out, needed to be alone…

She wrenched open the door and raced through, slamming it behind her and stepping out into the cold.