“You knew,” I said to Mom.
She began to cry. “We were trying to keep the family together.”
“No,” I said. “You were trying to keep Denise from feeling guilty.”
Denise wiped at her face. “You always make yourself the victim.”
“I made myself breakfast at four in the morning so I could get to work before Simon woke up,” I said. “I made Halloween costumes out of thrift-store curtains. I made parent meetings, dentist appointments, savings jars, birthday cakes, and a home. I never made myself the victim.”
My voice did not rise.
That made Denise look away.
Jonathan picked up the cake again, then seemed to think better of it and set it down. “I need some air,” he said.
“You’re already outside,” Denise replied sharply.
“I mean away from this.”
He walked toward the parking lot.
Denise watched him go, panic flickering through her anger.
For a moment, I saw the girl she had been before life disappointed her. My older sister, who once curled my hair for school dances and taught me how to hide tears with mascara. She had not always been this person. Or maybe I had spent years remembering only the parts of her I could still love.
“I didn’t come to ruin his day,” she said, quieter now.
“You came with that cake.”
Her face crumpled. “I thought he’d be happy.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m his mother.”
I shook my head gently. “Denise, love isn’t a title you can reclaim at a ceremony.”
She looked toward the auditorium doors. “I want a chance.”
“Then ask for one like a person who knows she lost something. Don’t announce yourself like nothing happened.”
Before she could answer, Simon returned alone, carrying a folder and two envelopes.
He looked from me to Denise. “What happened?”