My mother sighed.
“Harrison.”
But her tone wasn’t defending me.
It was warning him not to become too loud.
He leaned back.
“Your sister and Raymond traveled all this way.”
“So did relatives for Adrian’s funeral.”
“That’s different.”
I almost laughed.
Everything was always different when Victoria needed something.
She had been the center of our family since childhood.
If she was tired, everyone became quiet.
If she wanted something, everyone adjusted.
If I needed something, I was expected to be reasonable.
Marriage had finally given me distance from that pattern.
Adrian had taught me what a home could feel like when love wasn’t measured by obedience.
Now he was gone.
And my family had moved into our house before the flowers from his funeral had even wilted.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Victoria entered wearing a cream silk robe.
Her husband, Raymond, followed.
He carried a paper cup from an expensive coffee shop.
His Audi keys spun around one finger.
Raymond worked in private investment management.
At least that was how he described it.
He enjoyed mentioning his clients’ wealth more than his own work.
He had spent the previous evening explaining to one of Adrian’s former neighbors that his annual bonus was larger than most people’s salaries.
Now he looked at me.
“Morning.”
I nodded.
Victoria opened the refrigerator.
“Did you make breakfast?”
I looked at her.
She glanced over her shoulder.
“What?”
“I buried my husband yesterday.”
“And?”
I actually smiled.
It was small.
Almost involuntary.
“And you’re asking whether I made breakfast.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Rebecca, everyone is grieving in different ways.”
“You barely knew Adrian.”
“That doesn’t mean yesterday wasn’t emotionally exhausting for us too.”
Raymond laughed under his breath.
My mother placed four plates on the counter.
Not five.
I noticed.
I noticed everything that morning.
Maybe grief had stripped away my willingness to pretend.
Victoria poured orange juice.
“Anyway, Raymond needs the room by eight.”
I rested one hand on my stomach.
“The garage is below freezing.”
Mom finally looked at me.
“There’s a space heater.”
“It hasn’t worked since last winter.”
“Then use more blankets.”
Raymond took a sip of coffee.
“I really do need a quiet space.”
I turned toward him.
“You have a hotel room.”
He smiled.
“It’s forty minutes away.”
“And?”
“I have international calls.”
“That sounds like a problem between you and your hotel.”
Victoria slammed the refrigerator door.
“Why do you always have to make everything difficult?”
I looked at her.
For years, that sentence had worked on me.
