“I wanted people to see that we’d made it, Ethan. I wanted my parents to know I’d married someone who could help us stop being afraid of money.”
I watched her struggle with the next words.
“And I wanted to stop feeling like the poor girl standing in your mother’s dining room, hoping nobody noticed my shoes weren’t expensive.”
I remembered those dinners.
Vanessa arriving in carefully chosen dresses, complimenting the table settings, asking questions about paintings and furniture.
Once, she’d refused dessert because she spilled a little coffee on the tablecloth.
I’d told her not to worry.
But she’d looked mortified.
I had assumed she was concerned about making a good impression.
Perhaps she’d been frightened of being judged.
Still, that didn’t explain the contempt she’d shown tonight.
“Vanessa,” I said, “when you took that letter from me, you called me your millionaire mother-in-law. You announced that I’d failed you because I hadn’t brought an expensive present.”
She looked down.
“I know.”
“Did it occur to you that I might have written something important?”
“I was angry.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
She twisted the tissue in her hands.
“No. It didn’t.”
“Why?”
She swallowed.
“Because I’d convinced myself you’d decided not to give us anything useful.”
Ethan stared at her.
“Useful?”
She looked at him.
“I know how it sounds.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t think you do.”
I rose from my chair.
Both of them looked at me.
