Chapter 8: What We Were Planning to Do
Marcus looked at his mother for a long moment before he answered.
"We're not planning to do anything to you," he said.
"We're planning to stop letting things happen to us."
"That's very vague, Marcus."
"Then I'll be specific." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"You will not invoice us.
Not for Ellie's weekend, not for anything in the future.
You will not invoice Patrice.
And if you ever hand Roberta a bill for something that happened thirty-two years ago, I will know about it."
Diane's jaw shifted.
"And if I don't agree to your terms?"
"Then we stop bringing Ellie to you.
Not as punishment.
As protection." He said it quietly.
No anger in it.
Just the fact.
"She's six.
She doesn't understand what that invoice was.
But she will understand, one day, that her grandmother charged her parents for the weekend.
And I'm not going to let that be part of her childhood."
Diane's composure cracked — just slightly.
A tightening around the eyes.
"You would keep my granddaughter from me."
"You would charge her for juice boxes." Patrice's voice was flat.
"You would charge a six-year-old for sunscreen."
"That is not—"
"It's on the invoice, Mom.
Line four."
Diane looked at the folder on the table.
The old handwritten sheet from Roberta.
The years of paper stacked inside.
"I want to say something," Roberta said.
Everyone waited.
"I lost my sister over this." She said it simply.
No accusation in it.
Just the weight of it.
"Not a falling out.
Not a fight.
I lost her.
Thirty-two years.
My children grew up without an aunt.
Her children grew up without knowing me." She paused.
"I don't know if that matters to you.
I think it should."
Diane's hands had gone still on her purse.
"I was alone," she said finally.
Her voice had changed.
Smaller.
"After your father left — after Gerald died — I was alone in that house.
And nobody called.
Nobody came."
"We called," Marcus said gently.
"Not enough." Her eyes were wet now.
"I had all that time and nobody to put it toward.
And I thought — if I kept track, if I made it official, then at least it meant something.
At least it had a value.
At least I wasn't just — giving myself away to people who forgot about me the moment they didn't need me anymore."
The room was very quiet.
I looked at Patrice.
She was looking at her mother with an expression I couldn't fully read.
Not softness.
Not hardness.
Something in between.
"Mom," she said.
"You could have just told us that."
"Would you have listened?"
"I don't know.
Maybe not." Patrice closed the folder.
"But this wasn't the answer."
Diane wiped her eye with one finger.
Quickly.
Like she didn't want to be seen doing it.
"The invoice for Ellie's weekend," I said.
"I have it in my bag.
I'm not paying it.
And I need you to know that — not as a threat, just as a fact.
I'm not paying it."
Diane nodded once.
Barely.
"And I need you to destroy the template," Marcus said.
"The file, the logo, all of it.
I'm not asking you to account for the past.
I'm asking you to stop."
A long pause.
"All right," she said.
It was so quiet when she said it.
So much smaller than everything that had come before.
Roberta stood up.
She picked up the old handwritten invoice from the table, folded it once, and put it back in her bag.
"I'd like a piece of that lemon cake," she said.
"If nobody objects."
May you like
Patrice let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"I'll get plates," she said.
