PART 6
Then Melissa sat down.
“Three years ago,” she began, “I was angry.”
Nobody interrupted.
“David and I had just bought the house. My parents had helped with the down payment. His mother kept offering to help too, and I felt like she was always comparing herself to them.”
I almost laughed.
“I never compared myself to your parents.”
“I know that now.”
“Now?”
Melissa covered her face.
“I was insecure.”
Her mother’s expression hardened.
“That is not an excuse.”
“I know.”
David stood motionless.
Melissa continued.
“The first Thanksgiving, your mother called and asked what time dinner was.”
I waited.
“I told her we were doing something small.”
“You told me that.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“I told you it was just family.”
I nodded slowly.
“And you considered me not family?”
“No.”
She cried harder.
“I considered you dangerous.”
The room went quiet.
I could have reacted.
Instead I asked, “Dangerous?”
“Not physically.”
She swallowed.
“You were strong. You knew David better than anyone. I was afraid that if you were here, everyone would compare me to you.”
I looked at her.
“Melissa, nobody was comparing you to me.”
“You were the woman who had raised him. You knew all his habits. You knew how he liked things cooked. You knew his childhood stories. You knew his father.”
Her voice cracked.
“And I was terrified I would never measure up.”
I said nothing.
Because there was something tragic about being hated for qualities you never used against anyone.
“So you lied,” I said.
She nodded.
“Yes.”
“You told me David wanted a small Thanksgiving.”
“Yes.”
“You told David I didn’t want to come.”
“Yes.”
“And everyone else?”
She looked down.
“I told them you were difficult.”
I heard a quiet breath from someone at the table.
Her mother looked horrified.
“Melissa.”
“I know.”
“No,” her mother said. “You don’t.”
Melissa began to sob.
“I thought it would be one year.”
“Then two.”
“Yes.”
“Then three.”
She nodded.
