Chapter 4: The Ride Home
Chris didn't say anything until we were in the car.
He waited until we had pulled out of the restaurant parking lot, until the building had disappeared behind us, and then he said, "That was humiliating."
"For who?" I asked.
Same question as before.
"For me.
For my family." He kept his eyes on the road.
"My father's birthday dinner, Nora."
"Your father paid his own bill without complaining," I said.
"He was the only one who didn't make a scene."
"The others weren't ready for it."
"They never are," I said.
"That's the whole point."
He was quiet for a moment.
The streetlights moved across the windshield one by one.
"You should have told me," he said.
"If you were upset about the money, you should have come to me first.
We could have talked about it privately.
Like adults."
"I tried that."
He turned to look at me briefly.
"When?"
"Eighteen months ago.
I told you it was becoming a pattern.
You said I was being oversensitive." I kept my voice even.
"Then again last spring, after the Easter dinner.
You told me it was easier if I just handled it."
"I didn't mean every single time."
"Then what did you mean, Chris?
Because every single time is what happened."
He turned back to the road.
His hands shifted on the wheel.
"Donna is furious," he said.
"I know."
"She's going to say something."
"She already did," I said.
"She called me sneaky."
"Well — " He stopped himself.
I looked at him.
"Well what?"
"Nothing."
"Say it."
He exhaled.
"It was a little calculated, Nora.
You have to admit that."
"I calculated exactly what everyone ordered and made sure they paid for it themselves.
Yes.
I did that." I turned to look out the passenger window.
"I've been calculating how to keep the peace at every single one of these dinners for four years.
Tonight I calculated something different."
The car slowed for a red light.
Chris sat with his hands on the wheel and said nothing.
"I need you to understand something," I said.
"The money was never the whole problem.
The problem was that no one in your family ever once said thank you.
Not once, Chris.
Four years of dinners and not one person ever said thank you."
The light turned green.
He didn't move immediately.
The car behind us tapped its horn.
He drove.
"I didn't know it bothered you that much," he said finally.
His voice was quieter now.
"I know you didn't," I said.
"That's part of the problem too."
We drove the rest of the way home without speaking.
When he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, he sat for a moment with his hands still on the wheel.
"I'm not saying you were wrong," he said.
"I'm saying I wish you'd come to me first."
I opened my door.
"I did come to you first," I said.
"Twice.
You just don't remember."
May you like
I went inside.
He sat in the car for a long time before the headlights finally went off.
