The birthday party dissolved without a formal decision. Andrew’s boys were old enough to sense the mood and young enough to be confused by it. Emma opened her gifts because Sophie insisted they should at least give her one normal thing from the evening. Nobody sang.
The cake remained untouched for another hour. Eventually Andrew took his family home after promising Emma a do-over celebration. Patricia stayed longer, attempting several times to persuade Lauren that Michael was unfairly “turning this into an identity issue.” Lauren listened until something in her patience finally broke.
“It is an identity issue,” she said. “I made it one.” Patricia blinked. Lauren had not expected to say it.
She had certainly not expected to believe it the second she heard her own words, yet once spoken, the sentence reorganized the room. Patricia opened her mouth, but Lauren held up a hand. “I don’t want you explaining what you meant anymore; I knew what you asked for, I knew it bothered me, and I did it anyway.”
Patricia looked stricken. “I never asked you to hurt him.” “No. You asked me to make a distinction. I decided the distinction was harmless because it was convenient.” The admission made Lauren nauseated.
Patricia left soon afterward. She hugged Emma, kissed Sophie’s cheek despite Sophie’s stiffness, and told Lauren they would talk later. When the front door closed, the house fell into a silence so complete that Lauren could hear the refrigerator cycling in the kitchen. She turned toward the fireplace and saw the banner again.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMMA. The words looked cruel now, happiness arranged decoratively over a night that had fractured around a camera. Sophie started gathering paper plates. “You don’t have to clean,” Lauren said.
“I need to do something.” Lauren watched her daughter move through the room with clipped efficiency. “Sophie.” “What?”
“Did you know I was going to ask him to step out?” Sophie froze with a stack of napkins in her hands. “I knew Grandma asked. I hoped you weren’t going to do it.” “Why didn’t you say something?”
The moment the question left Lauren’s mouth, she understood the hypocrisy. Sophie stared at her. “Because you’re the mom.” Lauren closed her eyes.
The answer followed her upstairs later when she helped Emma change out of the birthday dress. Emma sat on the edge of her bed in pajama pants and a T-shirt, tiara discarded on the dresser. She looked small after a day designed to make her feel important. “Is Elijah coming back tonight?” she asked.