“Elena’s parents offered to cover some of it.”
“Good.”
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
“You really have changed.”
The words landed like criticism, but something inside me received them as information.
“Yes,” I said.
That seemed to unsettle him more than denial would have.
“Dad would have let them stay.”
I had wondered when he would bring his father into it.
The porch boards creaked under my shoes as I shifted my weight.
“Your father hosted people because he liked a full house,” I said. “And because he knew I would do most of the work.”
Julian looked at me sharply.
I had never said that aloud before.
“He loved people,” Julian said.
“He did. I loved him. Both things are true. So is the fact that I spent forty-three years making gatherings look effortless. They were not effortless.”
His shoulders lowered slightly.
“I thought you liked it too.”
“Sometimes I did. Sometimes I was exhausted and did it anyway because everyone expected me to.”
A car moved slowly past the house. Somewhere down the block a dog barked twice.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.
I almost answered defensively. Because nobody asked. Because mothers were expected to know. Because your father needed me. Because you were children. But the truth was more complicated.
“Because being needed made me feel safe,” I said. “And after a while, I forgot there was a difference between being loved and being useful.”
Julian’s face changed.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
He sat on the porch step.
For several minutes neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I told Elena’s family it was my idea.”
“Was it?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly is doing a lot of work there.”
