Diane did not answer fast enough.
Her son did.
“Most of them.”
Jonah looked at him.
The list included taking out trash, sweeping the back hall, wiping the table, folding towels, feeding the dog, sorting recycling, carrying groceries, and clearing everyone’s dishes after family meals.
Jonah’s mother read each line.
Diane said, “My boys have chores too.”
Her son gave a short, miserable laugh.
“Not like that.”
Diane stared at him.
He looked down at the wishbone still lying beside his plate.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Jonah.
Jonah did not know what to do with the apology.
Earlier that day, his cousin had laughed when Diane told him to serve everyone. That laugh had hurt. But now Jonah could see something else in his cousin’s face: relief that the work had landed on somebody else, followed by shame for being relieved.
His mother came back to him.
“Get your coat.”
Diane stepped forward. “You are not taking him in the middle of Thanksgiving because he was asked to help.”
Jonah’s mother turned.
“No. I’m taking him because you punished him with food.”
“He spilled gravy.”
“He was carrying a serving dish while your children played.”
“He needs to learn—”
“Stop telling me what my son needs.”
The dining room went silent.
Jonah had never heard his mother speak to her sister that way.
Diane’s face reddened. “Fine. Take him. But don’t call me next week when your shift changes and you need someone.”
Jonah’s mother went very still.
For one terrible second, Jonah thought that sentence might work.
His mother did need someone.
That was the truth Diane had been standing on.
