Twenty-six years ago.
The dining room was warm. Candles lit. Laughter everywhere. Harrison stood behind his mother's legs. Small hands gripping her dress. He didn't want to be here. "Harrison, sweetheart," his mother said gently. "Come say hello."
He shook his head. Buried his face deeper into the fabric. Across the room, another family sat at the table. A man. A woman. And a boy. The boy looked older. Maybe eight or nine. Dark hair. Bright eyes. He was watching Harrison.
"Don't worry about it," Harrison's mother said to the other family. "He takes time to warm up to new people." The woman across from her nodded. "Julius used to do the same thing when he was little." The boy scrunched up his face. "No I didn't."
"Yes you did," his mother replied. She was trying not to laugh. "You hid under every table we went to." Everyone laughed. Harrison peeked out just enough to see. The boy—Julius—was looking right at him. Then he smiled.
