Chapter 9 - THE PARTY WE CHOSE TO HAVE
Five years after storm, Daniel turned forty-five.
Patricia asked to host.
He said no.
Then:
“You can attend.”
Old Patricia would explode.
New:
“Okay.”
We hosted at small event room.
Thirty people.
Professional staff.
I did not serve anybody.
Patricia noticed.
“Would you like wine?”
I looked at her.
She froze.
Then both laughed.
“I walked into that,” she said.
“Yes.”
She poured her own.
Good.
During dinner, Daniel gave speech.
Not about scandal.
Employees.
Friends.
Family.
Then me.
He said:
“Claire taught me that peace bought by one person’s silence isn’t peace.”
I groaned.
“Too therapy.”
Everyone laughed.
Then:
“And she taught me that opening a door matters more than explaining later why you stayed seated.”
Room quiet.
He looked at me.
That apology still alive.
Good.
Then Patricia stood unexpectedly.
I tensed.
She said:
“I used to think family meant everyone contributing whatever they had to preserve the whole.”
Sounds okay superficially.
“Then I interpreted ‘whatever they had’ as belonging to me to decide.”
There.
“I was wrong.”
She sat.
No applause demanded.
Then Rebecca raised glass.
“To legally documented consent.”
Laughter.
Our family humor had changed.
After party, storm started.
Of course.
Patricia looked toward balcony doors.
Then at me.
“Would you like them locked?”
I stared.
She panicked.
“Joke. Bad joke.”
I laughed.
“Very.”
Then she became serious.
“I still see you out there sometimes.”
“So do I.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Then we watched rain from inside.
May you like
Door unlocked.
Symbol obvious but satisfying.
