Chapter 16 - Sunday Dinner Again
Two years after the dinner that ended my marriage, Sophia invited everyone to Clara's third birthday.
Everyone included Ingrid.
Lukas.
Thomas.
Maya.
And me.
I almost declined.
Then Maya saw the invitation.
“Is Clara going to have cake?”
“Yes.”
“Then we're going.”
Apparently democracy had limits.
The party ended with dinner.
At one point, I found myself carrying dessert toward a long table.
I stopped.
The similarity was almost absurd.
Thomas noticed.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
And I was.
I placed the cake down.
Lukas sat across from me.
Ingrid beside him.
Sophia held Clara.
Maya was explaining planets to anyone trapped within listening distance.
Then Ingrid said something in German.
“Evelyn looks happy.”
I looked at her.
She froze.
Then we both laughed.
“You know I understand you,” I said in German.
“I know.”
“Old habits?”
“Apparently.”
Maya's eyes widened.
“You speak German?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You never asked.”
“Say something.”
I leaned toward her.
“Finish your vegetables.”
She gasped.
“German is terrible.”
Everyone laughed.
Even Lukas.
That sound surprised me.
There was no cruelty in it.
No secret.
Just laughter.
Later, Ingrid approached me.
“I owe you something.”
“You already apologized.”
“Not this.”
She handed me an envelope.
Inside was the letter I had written but never mailed.
Or rather, a copy.
I looked up.
“How did you get this?”
“You left the original inside a book you returned to me after the divorce.”
I read my own sentence.
A family that requires one person to disappear is not a family I want.
“I kept it,” Ingrid said.
“Why?”
“Because I needed to read it more than once.”
I folded it.
“You've changed.”
“I'm trying.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
She smiled sadly.
“But trying is where changing starts.”
I couldn't argue with that.
Across the yard, Maya shouted.
“Mom!”
I turned automatically.
She waved.
“Come see this!”
I went.
No hesitation.
No ache.
No comparison.
That night, while driving home, Thomas looked at me.
“You know what today was?”
“Clara's birthday?”
“Besides that.”
I waited.
“The first time I've seen you in a room with all of them where you weren't waiting for something bad to happen.”
I looked through the windshield.
He was right.
The past hadn't disappeared.
It simply no longer controlled the temperature of every room I entered.
Then Thomas said:
“I have a question.”
My stomach fluttered.
May you like
“What kind?”
“The kind that might change our family.”
