Chương 6
I immediately regretted shouting.
Ethan looked embarrassed.
Not afraid.
Embarrassed.
That hurt in a different way.
I lowered my voice.
“Please leave.”
My mother blinked.
Dad said, “Allison.”
“Not you, Dad.”
I looked at all four of them.
“I mean all of you.”
Patrick’s face turned red.
“You’re throwing us out?”
“Yes.”
“On Ethan’s birthday?”
“That’s why.”
Jessica looked toward the street.
“I think we should go.”
Patrick stared at her.
“You think?”
“Yes, Patrick.”
For the first time since arriving, she sounded tired instead of offended.
“This is stupid.”
He looked as though she had betrayed him personally.
Mom turned to Dad.
“Are you hearing this?”
Dad rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m hearing everybody.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
It rarely was.
He looked at me, then at my mother.
“Maybe we should go.”
Her mouth parted slightly.
I had seen that look before.
It appeared whenever Dad failed to support her quickly enough.
It lasted only a second.
Then she lifted her purse onto her shoulder.
“Fine.”
She looked directly at Ethan.
“Happy birthday.”
The words were flat.
Ethan gave a small nod.
“Thanks.”
She walked toward the gate.
Dad followed, but stopped beside me.
His hand touched my shoulder.
“I’ll call you.”
“Okay.”
Patrick passed without speaking.
Jessica paused.
For a second, I thought she might apologize.
Instead she said, “Lily really was upset.”
I looked at her.
“I believe you.”
That seemed to bother her.
She left.
The gate closed.
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Then Ben called from the yard, “Can we have cake now?”
The timing was so perfect that a laugh escaped me.
A few of the boys laughed too.
Ethan did not.
He stood near the crooked soccer net, looking at the gate.
I walked over.
“Hey.”
He kicked at the grass.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“They came because of me.”
“No.”
“Yes, they did.”
“They came because the adults in this family are bad at boundaries.”
He frowned.
“What’s a boundary?”
“Something I apparently should have learned about twenty years ago.”
He stared at me.
“That didn’t answer it.”
“You’re right.”
I crouched beside the net and began straightening the plastic frame.
“A boundary is a rule about what you’ll let people do to you.”
“Like no punching?”
“Excellent boundary.”
He considered that.
“Grandma broke one?”
“She broke one I hadn’t told her about yet.”
“That seems unfair.”
“It is.”
He helped me snap the net back into place.
“What happens now?”
I looked toward the gate.
“I don’t know.”
That answer seemed to satisfy him more than reassurance would have.
“Can we have cake?”
“Yes.”
“Can Marcus have the corner piece?”
“You hate corner pieces.”
“I know.”
He glanced at Marcus.
“He likes frosting.”
That small generosity nearly undid me.
I stood quickly and called everyone to the table.
The boys crowded around while I lit ten candles.
The wind blew out three before I finished.
We relit them.
Then two more went out.
Jamal cupped his hands around the cake like a tiny firefighter protecting a flame.
Everyone started laughing.
When all ten candles were finally burning, I began singing.
The boys joined in, loud and uneven.
Ethan looked at me across the candles.
His face was still flushed from soccer.
A streak of dirt crossed one cheek.
For one second, his expression was serious.
Then Ben sang the wrong name on purpose.
Ethan cracked up.
He barely managed to blow out the candles.
The boys cheered.
Someone slapped the table.
Orange soda spilled again.
I cut the cake.
Marcus got the corner piece.
For the next hour, nobody mentioned my mother.
When the last parent picked up the last child, the yard looked wrecked.
Paper plates sat beneath chairs.
One balloon had deflated into the grass.
The soccer net leaned to one side.
Ethan and I cleaned in silence.
He carried pizza boxes to the trash.
I gathered cups.
At the fence, he found one of the escaped balloons tangled low enough to reach.
He pulled it free.
“Can I keep this in my room?”
“If it survives.”
“It survived Grandma.”
I stared at him.
He looked horrified.
“I didn’t mean—”
Then I laughed.
I laughed hard enough that I had to bend over.
Ethan started laughing too.
It was not particularly funny.
That was probably why we could not stop.
By the time we went inside, my sides hurt.
My phone was on the kitchen counter.
Twenty-three notifications waited on the screen.
Family group messages.
Two missed calls from Mom.
One from Dad.
Three texts from Patrick.
I ignored all of them until Ethan was showered and asleep.
Then I sat at the kitchen table and opened the family chat.
My mother had written first.
Patrick had replied almost immediately.
You shouldn’t have had to hear any of it.
My father had written, Everyone needs to cool down.
Jessica had said nothing.
Then my aunt Carol, who had not been at the party and lived four states away, entered the conversation.
What happened?
My mother responded with a paragraph.
According to her, I had invited the family over, humiliated her in front of strangers, accused her of mistreating Ethan, and ordered everyone off my property.
The inaccuracies were almost impressive.
I read the message twice.
Then I noticed the part that made my stomach tighten.
After everything we have done to support Allison financially, she has decided she no longer needs or respects this family.
Patrick added, Maybe she should start proving that.
Three minutes later, a private text from Jessica appeared.
You should know he’s serious.
I stared at it.
Another message followed.
He told Mom not to help you with rent anymore.
My pulse quickened.
I typed, She doesn’t pay my rent.
Jessica replied almost instantly.
She told him she does.
I sat very still.
My mother had helped with my security deposit two years earlier.
She had never paid my monthly rent.
Not once.
May you like
I opened my banking history anyway.
I searched her name.
