Our family was already under enough pressure, I’d told myself.
But a family where only one person ever says no isn’t a family that’s under pressure. It’s a family that’s already decided who doesn’t get a vote.
On a Saturday in early December, the doorbell rang.
I opened it.
Diane was standing on my porch.
She looked older. Smaller. She was wearing a plain gray coat instead of her good camel one. She had a long, flat shopping bag in her arms.
She didn’t come in. She waited for me to say she could.
I almost laughed. Thirteen years, and it was the first time she’d ever waited.
“Hello, Diane.”
“Lauren.” She shifted the bag. “Is Greg home?”
“He’s at the yard.”
“Oh.” She looked down at her shoes. “Good. Actually. That’s good.”
We stood there for a moment.
“Would you like to come in?” I asked. “For coffee?”
“Yes,” she said. “Please.”
