Chapter 16
783 Words
(Rebecca's POV)
Lisa is the first person to stand when I walk in.
Not Joanna, who's sitting at the head of the table examining her nails. Not Ivy, who's pouring herself wine without looking up. Lisa — seventy-eight years old, bad hip, hands that shake — pushes herself out of her chair and crosses the room with her arms open.
"Rebecca, you're finally here."
She pulls me into a hug. She smells like rosemary and face powder and the lavender soap she's used for as long as I've known her. Her arms are thin but her grip is firm, and she holds on for three full seconds before she lets go.
"Let me look at you." She holds me at arm's length. Her eyes move over my face. "You're too thin. Are you eating?"
"I'm eating, Lisa."
"You're lying. Sit down. The pot roast has your name on it."
I almost smile. Lisa has this way of making a room feel safe just by being in it. She doesn't try. She just is. Every family dinner I've survived for six years — every sideways comment from Joanna, every polished little jab from Ivy — I survived because Lisa was at the table, and Lisa treated me like I belonged there.
This is the last time I'll sit at this table.
The thought settles in my chest. I push it down and take my seat.
"You're late," Ivy says, not looking up from her wine. "Grandma's been on her feet waiting for you. At her age, with her hip, she should be the one waited upon. But I suppose you didn't think about that."
"I'm five minutes early, Ivy."
"You used to be twenty minutes early."
I unfold my napkin and place it in my lap.
"I was at Stanford University for the robotics exhibition."
Ivy looks up now. One eyebrow raised.
"What would someone like you be doing at a university?"
"I graduated from Stanford University."
Ivy's mouth twitches.
"Well." She takes a sip of wine. "You've been a housewife for so long, I almost forgot you were a Stanford University graduate."
The word almost sits in the air between us. It's not an accident. Ivy doesn't make accidents. She makes small, precise cuts intended to humiliate you.
The old me would've laughed it off. Changed the subject. Made myself smaller so Ivy could feel bigger.
Now, I just look at her and hold her gaze until she's the one who looks away.
A boy comes running from the other room — Ivy's son, Marcus, all elbows and energy, skids to a stop next to my chair.
"Aunt Rebecca! Are you making pasta tonight?"
He bounces on his toes, tugging at my sleeve. He's the only person in this family besides Lisa who's ever been genuinely happy to see me. I used to make him that pasta every time we came for dinner. Garlic butter, parmesan, the edges crisped in the pan until they crackle. He'd eat three bowls and fall asleep on the couch.
"Not tonight, sweetheart."
Marcus's face falls. "But you always make it."
"Not tonight."
Ivy sets her glass down. "Oh, come on, Rebecca. It's just pasta. You're already here — might as well make yourself useful."
Joanna nods. "Yes, the boy wants pasta. Go on." She waves her hand toward the kitchen like she's directing traffic. "You know where everything is."
My hands press flat against the table. My chair shifts back an inch before I catch it. Six years of standing up when that tone hits — my body is already at yes, ma'am before my mind remembers I don't do that anymore.
I settle back in my chair.
"I'm not making pasta tonight."
Joanna's eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"
"I said I'm not making pasta. Whoever wants to eat can make it themselves."
The table goes quiet. Marcus looks between his mother and me, confused.
"Can't even make pasta now? What exactly are you good for, Rebecca? You're Sean's secretary and you can barely manage that." Joanna shakes her head. "You should just quit."
"I already have. Tomorrow is my last day."
Joanna blinks. She didn't expect that I would give her what she asked for this fast. She picks her wine up. "I suppose someone else will make Sean's coffee now."
Lisa sets down her fork. Something passes through her face. Something has changed. She can sense it even if she doesn't know what.
She turns to Joanna. "Stop trying to always find faults in Rebecca. She's Sean's wife and Jack's mother."
Joanna opens her mouth. Nothing comes out. For the first time in six years, the woman who always has a verdict has nothing to say.
- Writer
