Chương 9
This time nobody had knocked.
Mom stood on the porch.
Her eyes moved from Eric to Dad to me.
Then she heard Noah laughing with Mason in the living room.
Her face hardened.
“I see you didn’t waste much time holding court.”
Dad stepped between us.
“Diane.”
She looked at him.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Use that voice with me.”
Dad stared at her.
For the first time in my life, he did not soften.
“You need to leave.”
Mom blinked.
“What did you say?”
“This is Marissa’s house.”
“I know whose house it is.”
“And she didn’t invite you.”
Mom looked past him at me.
“I came to correct a few lies before this family decides to destroy itself.”
I stood.
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“No what?”
“You don’t get to come in here and explain everyone to everyone anymore.”
Her mouth tightened.
“That’s a dramatic way to describe helping.”
“Then help me with one thing.”
I picked up my phone.
Mom glanced at it.
“Why did you tell Caroline I wanted Noah excluded from family events?”
Her face changed.
Just slightly.
Enough.
Dad saw it too.
Mom folded her arms.
“I never used those words.”
I felt something inside me settle.
Not calm.
Something harder.
“Good.”
I opened the voice recorder.
“Then you should have no problem telling us exactly which words you did use.”
Mom stared at the phone in my hand.
“You’re recording me now?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes flicked toward Lily.
“Learned that trick from her?”
Lily did not answer.
I touched the screen.
The red timer began moving.
“Why did you tell Caroline I wanted Noah excluded from family events?”
Mom looked at Dad.
“Frank, are you really going to stand there and let her interrogate me?”
Dad did not move.
“Answer her.”
A muscle jumped in Mom’s jaw.
“I told Caroline that Marissa was overwhelmed.”
“That isn’t what she said you told her.”
“Caroline has always heard what she wants to hear.”
Eric made a small sound behind Dad.
Mom turned toward him.
“Oh, don’t start.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
Eric crossed his arms.
“You told me Marissa wanted space.”
“I said she needed space.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“They were in this case.”
I said, “How would you know?”
Mom looked at me.
“Because I know you.”
“You know what I asked you.”
She did not answer.
“Did I ever ask you to decline invitations for me?”
“No.”
The word came quickly.
Too quickly.
Dad’s face changed.
I kept going.
“Did I ever ask you to tell people not to invite Noah unless I approved it first?”
“No.”
“Did I ever ask you to say I wanted him left out of birthday parties?”
“No.”
“Did I ever tell you that Susan was selfish for refusing to change Easter?”
Mom’s lips pressed together.
“No.”
“Did I ever tell you I needed you to be the bad guy so Noah wouldn’t know I was keeping him away from family?”
Her eyes flashed.
“That is not what I said.”
“What did you say?”
“I said you were tired of explaining yourself.”
“I never told you that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
There it was again.
That phrase.
The doorway she used every time reality became inconvenient.
You didn’t have to.
I know you.
I know what you meant.
I know what everyone is thinking.
I lowered the phone slightly.
“No.”
Mom’s expression hardened.
“No what?”
“No more mind reading.”
She laughed without humor.
“Marissa, for God’s sake.”
“If I didn’t say it, you don’t get to turn it into something I said.”
“You’re acting like I forged your signature.”
“You forged my position in this family.”
Dad inhaled sharply.
Mom’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Anger.
“Do you have any idea how exhausting you’ve been since Noah was born?”
The room went silent.
From the living room came a burst of electronic music and Mason yelling, “That was cheap.”
Noah shouted back, “It was strategy.”
Mom glanced toward the sound.
I watched her.
“Keep going.”
She stared at me.
“You want honesty?”
“Yes.”
“No, you want everyone to tell you that you’ve done everything perfectly.”
I almost answered.
Then I stopped.
“Go ahead.”
Her mouth tightened.
“You changed.”
“So did you.”
“I’m talking about you.”
“Then talk.”
She looked around the room as if expecting someone to rescue her from the invitation.
Nobody did.
“Every family gathering became a negotiation.”
“With who?”
“With everyone.”
“Name one.”
She hesitated.
“Me.”
The honesty of it startled me.
She seemed startled too.
Dad looked at her.
Mom continued before anyone could interrupt.
“You stopped letting things happen naturally.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there were rules.”
“What rules?”
“Don’t surprise him.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Don’t hug him unless he wants it.”
“Don’t make him eat something he hates.”
“Don’t tease him if he doesn’t understand the joke.”
“Don’t turn music up suddenly.”
“Give him a place to sit.”
“Tell him what time we’re eating.”
Eric stared at her.
Mom threw out one hand.
“Everything became instructions.”
I said, “Most of those sound like basic respect.”
“To you.”
“To anyone.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
Then she caught herself.
“No, Marissa, not everyone wants to spend a barbecue worrying that one wrong noise is going to ruin the afternoon.”
The words hung there.
I expected anger to hit me.
Instead I felt tired.
Almost impossibly tired.
“You could have said that to me.”
“I did.”
“No.”
“I complained.”
“You made comments.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You made jokes just soft enough to deny afterward.”
Mom rolled her eyes.
“Oh, please.”
“And when I pushed back, you said I was sensitive.”
“You are sensitive.”
“Maybe.”
That stopped her.
I continued.
“Maybe I am.”
Lily looked at me.
“I probably should have challenged you sooner.”
Mom opened her mouth.
“But that doesn’t turn your lies into help.”
Her expression flattened.
“I was trying to make things easier.”
“For who?”
She did not answer.
May you like
“For who, Mom?”
“For everybody.”
