them to scale back.”
I kissed his knuckles and said the same thing I always said.
“They need it.”
He didn’t argue after that.
That was Marcus.
He could have made a speech.
He could have listed every unfair thing in detail.
He could have told me I was being used.
Instead he trusted me to get there myself.
I wish I had gotten there sooner.
The week before Lily’s birthday, I called Mom to make sure they were coming.
She sounded warm.
Easy.
Cheerful.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said.
“With bells on.”
I laughed.
I actually laughed.
That’s the part that still embarrasses me.
Not that I trusted her.
I can forgive myself for that.
It’s that I let myself feel relieved.
Saturday came in all cotton-candy colors.
I bought dollar-store balloons and paper streamers and a plastic tablecloth with crowns on it.
I baked Lily a chocolate cake from scratch because she said pink frosting tasted like cake in a way chocolate frosting didn’t.
I never understood the logic, but six-year-olds don’t owe anyone logic.
By two o’clock the apartment was loud in the best way.
Kids running.
Paper plates sliding across the table.
Someone crying because someone else won musical chairs.
Juice boxes everywhere.
Lily kept checking the door.
Not constantly.
Just enough to hurt.
Every time the hallway creaked, her head turned.
Every time she heard footsteps, she smiled a little too quickly.
I kept telling myself they were late.
Parking.
Traffic.
Last-minute stop.
By two-thirty, I was reheating snacks that were supposed to be eaten hot.
By three, the other parents were starting to do that polite thing where they look at you and then at the door and then pretend not to notice anything is wrong.
By four, the last goodie bag had gone out the door.
The apartment got quiet in a way that felt sticky.
Lily’s wrapped present from my parents sat on the couch where Mom had dropped it off two days earlier, because apparently leaving a box counted more than showing up.
Lily leaned against me and asked, “Did Grandma get lost?”
I said, “I’m going to call them, baby.”
I went into the kitchen and shut the door most of the way.
Dad answered on the second ring.
I heard laughter before I heard him.
Glasses clinking.
People talking over each other.
Music in the background.
“Oh,” he said, like I had interrupted something more important than my daughter.
“Today? We’re at Danny’s.
He insisted.
Busy house, you know how it is.”
I gripped the counter.
“You knew today was Lily’s birthday.
I reminded you yesterday.”
He sighed.
That sigh told me everything before the words did.
It was the sigh of a man who thought he had the right to disappoint me and then be annoyed that I noticed.
“We can’t drop everything for every little thing, Sarah.
We have other grandkids.
It’s easier there.”
I asked him the question I already knew the answer to.
“How did you afford the trip?”
“We saved,” he snapped.
“What we do with our money is our business.
You offered to help.
Nobody forced you.”
Then he went quieter, colder.
“We don’t count your family the same way.
Danny’s is better established.
You understand.”
Better established.
I don’t know if I
