Chương 7
“I know.”
“You sat on the bathroom floor because you thought you’d missed something.”
My eyes burned.
“Please don’t.”
“They knew.”
“Yes.”
He swore softly.
Lily looked away to give me privacy, which was ridiculous because she was four feet away.
Daniel said, “I’m coming home.”
“No.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You’re working.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“Marissa.”
“The kids are okay.”
“I know.”
“I don’t need you to lose a shift.”
“I’m salaried.”
“You know what I mean.”
He went quiet.
Then he said, “Do you want me home?”
I hated that question because it forced me to stop performing competence.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there.”
The call ended.
I put the phone down.
Lily said, “Dad’s mad.”
“Yes.”
“Like normal mad or silent dishwasher mad?”
“Possibly worse.”
She nodded solemnly.
“Wow.”
I almost smiled again.
Then my phone rang.
Dad.
I stared at the screen until it nearly stopped.
Lily said, “You don’t have to answer.”
“I know.”
I answered anyway.
“Hi.”
Dad’s voice was low.
“Is Noah okay?”
“He asked whether you were mad at him.”
A painful breath came through the phone.
“Jesus.”
“He’s eight.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
The word broke slightly.
I walked into the laundry room and closed the door halfway.
“What do you want, Dad?”
“To tell you something before your mother does.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
He was silent.
“Dad.”
“She’s going to say I’m blaming her because our marriage is bad.”
I leaned against the washing machine.
“Is your marriage bad?”
“Yes.”
The answer came too fast.
I closed my eyes.
“How long?”
“Long enough that today isn’t the cause.”
“Okay.”
“She’ll say I’m changing the story.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
Another pause.
“Because there’s more.”
I pressed my fingers to my forehead.
“I can’t do another surprise.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t.”
“You need to hear this one.”
I could hear people behind him now.
Someone opening the patio door.
Mom’s voice in the distance.
Dad lowered his own.
“Your mother didn’t start trying to exclude Noah this week.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“What are you saying?”
“She’s been asking the family not to invite him to things for almost two years.”
For a moment, the sentence made no sense.
Not because I had misheard him.
Because my mind refused to put my mother and two years into the same thought.
“What do you mean, asking the family?”
Dad exhaled slowly.
“She’d make comments.”
“What comments?”
“That maybe certain dinners weren’t a good fit.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“That’s not asking people not to invite him.”
“No.”
He paused.
“Sometimes she was more direct.”
I pushed away from the washing machine.
“Who?”
“Your aunt.”
“Denise?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
“Rebecca.”
My cousin.
I stared at the half-open laundry room door.
Through the gap, I could see Lily in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with her arms folded.
She was pretending not to listen.
“Who else?”
Dad was quiet.
“Claire.”
My stomach dropped.
“Claire knew?”
“I don’t know how much.”
“You just said Mom asked her not to invite Noah.”
“She brought it up.”
“That is not a small thing, Dad.”
“I know.”
“Who else?”
He said nothing.
“Dad.”
“Evan.”
I closed my eyes.
The list was becoming the entire family one name at a time.
“Was there anybody she didn’t talk to?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve been sitting at family dinners for two years knowing she was doing this?”
“I didn’t know all of it.”
“But you knew some.”
“Yes.”
I pressed my forehead against the cool edge of the cabinet.
“What did you do?”
“Not enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I told her to stop.”
“When?”
“More than once.”
“And then?”
“She said I was misunderstanding.”
“And you believed her?”
“No.”
“Then what did you do?”
His silence lasted too long.
I pulled the phone away from my ear, stared at the screen, and almost ended the call.
Then he said, “I let it go.”
There it was.
Not because he agreed.
Not because he believed her.
Because letting it go had been easier.
I said, “You all keep saying that like it’s passive.”
“What?”
“Letting it go.”
I could hear my voice rising.
“You keep talking like doing nothing means nothing happened.”
“Marissa.”
“You knew she was trying to push him out, and you did nothing.”
“I argued with her.”
“You argued with her privately.”
“Yes.”
“And then showed up to the same gatherings and ate potato salad.”
He didn’t answer.
I laughed once, and there was nothing funny in it.
“Did you ever think to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“And?”
“I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew what it would do.”
“To what?”
“To the family.”
That word.
Family.
Used like something fragile only when the people causing damage needed protection.
I opened the laundry room door.
Lily looked at me.
I put a finger up to tell her I was still on the call.
“Dad, if the family can only stay together because I don’t know what people are saying about my son, then what exactly are you protecting?”
He breathed out.
“I don’t have a good answer.”
“No.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
He went quiet.
I could hear Mom in the background again.
Her voice was sharper now, asking him who he was talking to.
Dad said, “I need to go.”
“Of course you do.”
“No, she’s coming outside.”
“Then let her hear me.”
“Marissa.”
“Put me on speaker.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that won’t help.”
“Help who?”
He didn’t answer.
Then Mom’s voice became clear.
“Are you talking to her?”
Dad covered the phone badly.
I heard fabric rubbing against the microphone.
“Carol, give me a minute.”
“No.”
The line went muffled.
Then my mother’s voice came through directly.
“Marissa.”
My whole body tensed.
“Did Dad give you his phone?”
“No, I took it.”
Of course she had.
I looked at Lily.
She mouthed, Grandma?
May you like
I nodded.
Mom said, “Whatever he just told you, you need to understand he is angry with me.”
