Chapter 18 - The Chair
Seven years after that terrible dinner, Mom invited everyone to her apartment for Thanksgiving.
Her dining table was small.
Nothing matched.
The wineglasses came from three different sets.
Nobody cared.
Clara was helping Mom in the kitchen when Vanessa arrived.
She looked around.
Only one chair remained.
Vanessa put her purse on it.
Then froze.
We all noticed.
Slowly, she picked up the purse.
She looked at Clara.
Clara looked back.
Vanessa smiled awkwardly.
“Your spot.”
Clara laughed.
“No, you sit.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“I insist.”
Sophie, now seven, looked between them.
“Why are you guys being weird about a chair?”
The adults burst out laughing.
Sophie frowned.
“I don't get it.”
“Good,” Clara said.
She kissed Sophie's forehead.
“I hope you never do.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Our children didn't need to inherit every wound simply because we had inherited them.
We could end things.
Patterns.
Cruelty.
Entitlement.
Silence.
May you like
We could decide some traditions deserved to die.
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