Chương 10
I looked toward the living room.
Noah and Mason were arguing over something incomprehensible involving a digital castle.
Their voices overlapped.
Neither sounded afraid.
“Not for him.”
Mom’s jaw tightened.
“He doesn’t understand half of what’s happening.”
Lily stepped forward.
“He understands more than you think.”
Mom looked at her.
“Stay out of this.”
“No.”
“Lily.”
“No.”
Her voice shook, but she stayed put.
“You said things to me because you thought I would help you convince Mom.”
“I thought you were mature enough to understand nuance.”
“You asked if I wished my brother had been born normal.”
Dad shut his eyes.
Mom’s face went pale.
Eric whispered, “Jesus.”
Mom looked at Lily.
“That is not how I meant it.”
Lily laughed once.
It was a terrible sound.
“Then how did you mean it?”
Mom said nothing.
Lily waited.
Still nothing.
Finally she nodded.
“Right.”
She turned away.
Mom stepped toward her.
“Lily.”
Dad moved between them.
“Don’t.”
Mom stared at him.
“You’re taking sides now?”
“I’m stopping you from cornering her.”
“She is my granddaughter.”
“And she said no.”
Mom looked around again.
The room was no longer organized the way she expected.
That realization seemed to frighten her more than the recording.
She pulled her purse strap higher on her shoulder.
“This is exactly what I was trying to prevent.”
I almost laughed.
“What?”
“The family turning into factions.”
Eric said, “You created factions.”
Mom whipped toward him.
“You think you’re innocent?”
“No.”
That answer stopped her.
Eric continued.
“I complained about Noah.”
His face tightened.
“I said shitty things when I was frustrated.”
Mom stared at him.
“But I didn’t ask you to lie.”
“I never said you did.”
“You used what I said anyway.”
“I repeated what you told me.”
“No.”
Eric shook his head.
“You edited what I said into something useful.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed.
“You said family dinners were easier without all the accommodations.”
“I said one dinner was easier because the restaurant had a menu Noah actually liked.”
Dad looked toward Eric.
Eric rubbed a hand over his face.
“I was being an ass about finding a restaurant.”
He looked at me.
“I was.”
I nodded once.
Mom said, “And now everyone gets to confess their little sins while I’m the monster.”
Nobody answered.
Her voice rose.
“Do you know how convenient that is?”
I said, “This isn’t a trial.”
“You’re recording me.”
“Because you rewrite conversations.”
Her face flushed.
“I remember conversations differently.”
“No.”
Dad’s voice was quiet.
Everyone looked at him.
He stepped away from the doorway.
“Not this time.”
Mom stared at him.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Dad reached into his pocket.
He pulled out his phone.
“I called Rachel this morning before I came here.”
Mom’s face changed.
Just enough.
Dad saw it.
So did I.
“She sent me screenshots.”
Mom went still.
“What screenshots?”
“Messages between you and her.”
Nobody moved.
Dad unlocked his phone.
“You told Rachel that Marissa said Emma’s graduation party would be too much for Noah.”
Mom’s lips parted.
“You told her Marissa felt guilty declining and asked you to answer invitations for her.”
“I was trying to spare her.”
Dad’s voice sharpened.
“She never asked you.”
Mom looked at me.
“You had complained about being overwhelmed.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“When?”
She hesitated.
“Over the years.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“You know what?”
She threw up both hands.
“Fine.”
The word came out loud enough that the boys went quiet in the living room.
Mom lowered her voice immediately.
“Fine.”
She breathed through her nose.
“I made decisions.”
I stared at her.
“I made judgment calls.”
Dad said, “On behalf of other adults.”
“Because no one else would.”
Eric laughed.
“You mean because no one agreed to put you in charge.”
Mom ignored him.
She looked directly at me.
“You were drowning.”
My chest tightened.
“Was I?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After Lily was born.”
The room shifted.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Dad’s face emptied.
I said, “What did you do?”
Mom did not answer.
I took one step toward her.
“What did you do after Lily was born?”
She looked at Dad.
He spoke first.
“Diane.”
Something in his voice made her shoulders drop.
She looked suddenly older.
Not softer.
Just tired.
“I thought Marissa needed rest.”
I could hear my own pulse.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“You were crying all the time.”
“I had a newborn.”
“You said you couldn’t handle people coming over.”
“I said I couldn’t handle people coming over without warning.”
Mom blinked.
The distinction seemed small to her.
It was not small to me.
I remembered saying it.
I remembered standing in our apartment kitchen with milk leaking through my shirt while Mom complained that Susan had dropped by at a bad time.
I had said, “I just need people to call first.”
That had been it.
One sentence.
One exhausted sentence.
“You told people not to visit.”
“I told them to give you space.”
“For how long?”
Mom looked away.
“How long?”
“A while.”
“Months?”
She did not answer.
Dad whispered, “Diane.”
Mom snapped, “She was miserable.”
I flinched.
She saw it.
Her face shifted.
“I don’t mean miserable like that.”
“How do you mean it?”
“You were tired.”
“I was tired.”
“You were crying.”
“I was recovering from having a baby.”
“You barely showered.”
Lily looked down.
Mom seemed to hear herself, but she kept going.
“You didn’t answer the phone.”
“Because I was sleeping when the baby slept.”
“You snapped at me.”
“Probably.”
“You said everyone wanted something from you.”
The memory came back.
Not all of it.
Just the sensation of Lily screaming at three in the morning while I sat on the bathroom floor because it was the only place where the fan covered some of the sound.
I had told Mom the next day that everyone wanted a piece of me.
I had meant the baby.
Work.
Bills.
My own body.
May you like
The endless advice.
I had not meant the family should disappear.
