Chapter 13: The Private Dinner
Maya set the apartment table for five like she was staging it for a photo we would never take. She'd bought a small bunch of white flowers from the grocery store and put them in a mason jar in the center. The rest was what we already owned. Chipped plates, paper napkins, the folding chairs we used when her brother visited. She'd made baked chicken and rice because it was the one thing she knew would feed everyone without asking about allergies.
Diane arrived first. She knocked instead of using the buzzer, and when I opened the door she was holding her coat folded over her arm instead of wearing it, like she wasn't sure if she was staying. Her hair was combed. She looked smaller without the dark frayed coat bulked around her.
"Thanks for having me," she said.
Maya nodded and took the coat. "Of course. Come sit."
My parents arrived five minutes later. My mom carried a pie in a tin, the kind from the bakery near their house. My dad carried his hands in his pockets. None of us hugged. Maya directed everyone to a chair. I ended up between Maya and my mom, with Diane across from me and my dad at the end. For a minute the only sound was plates being passed.
We ate because Maya told us to. She asked my dad about the drive, asked Diane if she needed water. Small talk that didn't stick. I watched my mom push rice around her plate. She hadn't touched the chicken.
Halfway through, my mom set her fork down. Her hands stayed on the table, flat.
"Diane," she said. She didn't look at me or Maya, just straight across. "I need to say this to you directly."
Diane looked up. Her jaw was tight but she held the eye contact.
"When Ethan was sixteen, a letter came to the house. It was forwarded from the agency. It was from you," my mom said. Her voice was low and even. "You had written asking if you could send a photo, if he was well. I didn't show him. I put it in a drawer and I told my husband not to mention it. I told myself I was protecting him. That was a lie. I was protecting myself."
My dad exhaled through his nose but didn't interrupt.
"I am sorry I hid it from you," my mom said to Diane. "You deserved to have that letter answered, even if the answer was no. And I am sorry I took that choice from my son."
Diane's eyes filled, but she didn't look away. She swallowed once.
"Thank you for saying that," she said. Her voice was rough. "I accept your apology. But I don't excuse it. I spent a lot of years not knowing if he'd even gotten anything. If he knew I tried."
"I know," my mom said. She nodded and picked her fork up again, then put it back down. "I know."
The table went quiet. Maya reached under the table and found my hand. Her fingers squeezed once.
I cleared my throat. I had practiced what I wanted to say on the drive over from the county clerk's office that morning, but it sounded different out loud.
"I've been thinking about what comes next," I said. I looked at Diane first, then at my mom and dad. "I need to be clear so nobody has to guess. Mom, Dad, you are my parents. You raised me. That doesn't change because of a piece of paper or a phone call. That is not up for vote."
My mom's shoulders dropped a fraction. My dad nodded.
"Diane, I want to know you," I continued. "But it will be limited. It will be when I invite you. Not every week. Not whenever something comes up. If I call or text, you can come. If I don't, you wait. I can't have you showing up and me wondering if I owe you something I haven't agreed to."
Diane pressed her lips together. She didn't argue.
"I understand," she said. "Invitation only. I can do that."
"I mean it," I said. "I need you to mean it too."
"I do," she said.
Maya let go of my hand and placed both hands on the table. She looked at both mothers in turn. She had been quiet most of the dinner, letting my mom speak, letting me set my terms, but this part was hers.
"I have one rule we all need to agree to," she said. She wasn't smiling, but her tone wasn't unkind. "No surprise visits. Not at the church, not at events, not at this apartment. If something needs to be said, it goes through Ethan. He is the point of contact for both sides. That way nobody gets cornered on steps again."
My mom nodded immediately. "Agreed."
Diane hesitated, then nodded too. "Through Ethan. Yes. I shouldn't have done it that way. On your wedding day. I panicked."
Maya nodded back. "Thank you."
May you like
No one moved to hug. My dad cut a small slice of pie nobody had asked for and put it on Diane's plate, then on my mom's. Diane didn't eat it right away. The note was still in my pocket, folded in the same off-white rectangle. I could feel its edge against my thigh. It was mine. No one had asked for it back, and I hadn't offered.
We sat there a little longer while the apartment got darker. The mason jar flowers caught the kitchen light. Maya hadn't printed any wedding photos yet; the proofs were still in an envelope on the counter, untouched since the church steps. There was still grief in the room, just quieter now, with chairs around it.
