Chapter 7
Mom’s jaw tightened.
“Richard.”
“That summer, we spent eleven thousand on Vanessa’s birthday.”
“Dad,” Vanessa whispered.
“And last year, we spent—”
“Stop.”
Mom’s voice cracked across the table.
People nearby glanced over.
She lowered her voice.
“Stop turning our family into a spreadsheet.”
Dad looked at her.
“We turned Nora into one first.”
That sentence silenced the table.
Even me.
Mom’s eyes filled with tears.
I expected to feel victorious.
I didn’t.
I just felt tired.
She looked at me.
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“What?”
“You never complained.”
I stared at her.
“I stopped complaining.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“No, Mom. It isn’t.”
My voice trembled now, but I kept going.
“I complained when I was seven.”
She looked down.
“I complained when I was ten. And twelve. And fifteen. Every time, you explained why I shouldn’t feel what I felt. Eventually I learned the lesson.”
“What lesson?”
“That telling you I was hurt only got me called ungrateful.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
For once, I didn’t rush to comfort her.
Vanessa looked between us.
Then she said something quietly.
“I remember the iPhone box.”
My eyes moved toward her.
She looked ashamed.
“You do?”
She nodded.
“I thought it was funny.”
“So did everyone.”
“I was thirteen.”
“I know.”
She swallowed.
“I remember you going upstairs afterward.”
I had forgotten that part.
Or buried it.
“I followed you.”
Now I really looked at her.
“What?”
“You were sitting on your bed.”
Vanessa’s voice became smaller.
“You were crying.”
The restaurant disappeared for a second.
I remembered.
The dark bedroom.
Christmas lights glowing through the window.
The stupid Visa card lying beside me.
“I stood outside your door,” Vanessa continued. “I didn’t go in.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She wiped beneath one eye.
“Maybe because I knew.”
Nobody spoke.
“I knew it wasn’t fair,” she whispered.
That was the first apology she gave me.
Not the word sorry.
The truth.
She had known.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Then the actual words came.
“I’m really sorry.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
Mom looked at me.
“I’m sorry too.”
I waited.
She seemed to understand that she needed to keep going.
“I favored Vanessa.”
Dad looked at her.
Mom’s voice broke.
“I did.”
She pressed a napkin beneath her eyes.
“She needed me more. Or I thought she did. You were always so capable, Nora. You did everything yourself.”
“Because I had to.”