She sat down on a folding chair against the wall.
“I liked being the daughter they were proud of,” she said.
I said nothing.
She pressed her fingertips against her forehead.
“Every time you came home, Mom compared us. She did it like she was complimenting me, but I always knew you were the other half of the sentence.”
“That did not make me your enemy.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Her eyes filled.
“I think I am starting to.”
Mother and Dad entered together.
Dad looked angry.
Not at first with himself.
“We need to discuss why the Army arranged something at our event without telling us,” he said.
I almost laughed.
Mother whispered, “Stop.”
He looked at her.
“Not now.”
“No,” she said. “Now.”
It was the first time I had heard her interrupt him in years.
She faced me.
“I told you that you would ruin the picture.”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry.”
Dad exhaled. “We did not understand what tonight was.”
I looked at him.
“Tonight was a Veterans Appreciation Gala.”
He had no answer.
“You did not need to understand my classified assignments,” I said. “You needed to understand the meaning of the word appreciation.”
Mia lowered her head.
