Chapter 7: The Honest Thing
I didn't answer her right away.
I got up, filled the kettle, and set it on the stove.
Not because I wanted tea.
Because I needed something to do with my hands while I decided what kind of woman I was going to be in the next five minutes.
Janice watched me from the table.
"You don't have to say anything," she said.
"I know what you think of me."
"You don't, actually."
The kettle ticked as it heated.
I took two mugs from the cabinet.
Set them on the counter.
"What do you think of me?" she asked.
Her voice was careful.
Like she was asking but wasn't sure she wanted the answer.
I turned around.
"I think you're frightened," I said.
"I think you've been frightened for a long time, and it's made you into someone who takes things before they can be taken from you."
She looked at the table.
"I think you took Priya's work because you were afraid someone younger and hungrier was going to overtake you.
I think you took over my birthday because you were afraid that if you asked, I'd say no, and then you'd have to feel bad about that." I kept my voice even.
"I think you told Aaron things were sorted because you were afraid that if he knew the real situation, he'd think less of you."
"That's a very generous interpretation," she said quietly.
"It's not generous.
It's just what I see."
The kettle began to rumble.
I poured the water and brought both mugs to the table and sat down across from her.
"What you did to me last night was cruel," I said.
"I want you to hear that clearly.
Not unkind.
Not thoughtless.
Cruel.
You threw away something I made for myself, on my birthday, in my own home, and you didn't hesitate."
Janice's eyes were wet.
She didn't blink.
"And what you did to Priya is worse.
Because she trusted the structure.
She did the work and believed it would be recognized.
You took that from her deliberately."
"I know." The words came out rough.
"So when you say you don't know how to fix it — I believe you.
But that's where you have to start.
Not with Aaron.
Not with your boss.
With Priya."
Janice wrapped her hands around the mug.
She didn't drink from it.
"She won't want to hear from me."
"Probably not.
But she deserves to anyway."
A long silence.
"What about Aaron?" she asked.
"That's between you and him.
I'm not going to tell you what to say to my son."
"But you'll tell him everything."
"I already did.
This morning, before you came home." I looked at her.
"I told him the truth because he asked me for it.
I'm not going to lie to my son to make your life easier.
That's not something I'm willing to do."
She nodded slowly.
Like she'd expected it and had needed to hear it confirmed.
"He loves you," I said.
"That's real.
But love doesn't mean he'll accept anything.
And I don't think you actually want him to."
She looked up at that.
"If he accepted everything," I said, "you'd never have to change.
And I think some part of you knows that the way you've been living — managing everyone, controlling the information, taking what you need before someone can refuse you — I think some part of you knows it's exhausting.
And lonely."
Janice put the mug down.
Her face did something complicated.
Not crying, exactly.
Something before crying.
"I didn't mean for your birthday to go the way it did," she said.
"I want you to know that.
I didn't wake up that morning planning to—"
"I know."
"I just saw the decorations and I panicked and I made a decision and then I couldn't undo it without admitting I'd been wrong, and I don't—" She stopped.
"I don't find that easy."
"I know that too."
We sat with that for a moment.
The back door opened and Aaron came in.
He'd been gone less than twenty minutes.
He looked at the two mugs on the table.
At Janice's face.
At mine.
He pulled out a chair and sat down between us.
"I don't want to lose this," he said to Janice.
"But I need things to be different."
"I know," she said.
"Not managed.
Not handled.
Different."
"I know, Aaron."
He reached across the table and put his hand over hers.
Not forgiving everything.
Not yet.
But not walking away either.
May you like
He looked at me.
"I think," he said carefully, "that we owe you a birthday."
