Chapter 5
She couldn’t.
I could hear her breathing.
Finally, she said quietly, “We made mistakes.”
It wasn’t enough.
But it was the first crack.
“Yes,” I said. “You did.”
Then she surprised me.
“Your father wants us to go to family therapy.”
I almost dropped the phone.
“What?”
“He thinks we should talk to someone.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think this family is becoming divided over something that happened years ago.”
There it was.
Dad wanted to understand.
Mom wanted the discomfort to stop.
Those were not the same thing.
“It didn’t happen years ago.”
“Nora—”
“You asked me to move my birthday to January this year.”
Silence.
“Vanessa’s vineyard party was six months ago.”
More silence.
“You dismissed my promotion at her party.”
“I did not dismiss it.”
“You told Aunt Linda I was ‘never much of a family person.’”
“I was making conversation.”
“You made me sound responsible for the distance you created.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“Intent doesn’t rewrite impact.”
Dr. Chin would have been proud.
Mom sighed.
“What do you want from me?”
For years, that question would have had a thousand answers.
A birthday cake.
A reservation.
A surprise.
A phone call before noon.
A mother who noticed.
But standing there at twenty-seven, I realized the answer had changed.
“I don’t want anything from you right now.”
She sounded genuinely hurt.
“That’s horrible.”
“No, Mom. It’s healthy.”
I ended the call.
Two weeks later, I agreed to dinner.
Dad suggested a neutral restaurant.
Mom suggested their house.
Vanessa suggested Gibsons because apparently irony was alive and thriving.
I chose a quiet Italian restaurant downtown.
When I arrived, they were already there.
Dad stood.
Mom smiled too brightly.
Vanessa barely looked up from her phone.
I sat across from her.
For the first ten minutes, everyone pretended we were a normal family.
Dad asked about Tokyo.
I told him about Tsukiji, Ginza, and the tiny ramen place where nobody spoke English and I had ordered by pointing at a picture.
He listened.
Actually listened.
“What was your favorite part?” he asked.
I thought about it.
“My birthday morning.”
Mom looked down.
Vanessa took a sip of wine.
Dad nodded.
“I’m glad you had that.”
Mom immediately said, “We could have done something here.”
I looked at her.
“You had twenty-seven opportunities.”
Dad closed his eyes briefly.
Vanessa dropped her fork.
“Oh my God.”
Everyone turned toward her.