Other mornings I was angry with myself for considering it.
Frank found another job.
Warehouse manager at a building-supply company in Columbus.
He called me.
“The pay’s actually a little better.”
“That’s good.”
“Insurance starts next month.”
“How’s your wife?”
“She says I’m more annoying now that I’m sleeping properly.”
“That sounds promising.”
He laughed.
At Christmas, he sent a card.
Inside he wrote:
Thank you for telling us the truth when nobody else would.
I kept it.
By January, Richard stopped asking me to come home.
Instead, he invited me to dinner.
A family meeting.
Susan called it “an attempt to get you in a room with paperwork.”
Richard chose the same Italian restaurant in Dublin.
Of course he did.
He invited Patricia.
Steven.
Carol.
Vanessa.
Richard’s attorney sent another proposal beforehand.
It assumed I would support new financing.
Richard had apparently told several people my agreement was basically guaranteed.
Susan recommended a written response.
I asked whether we could deliver it in person.
She looked over her glasses.
“Margaret, I will attend a meeting.”
“Good.”
“I will not participate in a family ambush.”
“Neither will I.”
“No unsupported accusations.”
“Fine.”
“No arguing about Vanessa.”
“Can I order dessert?”
“That depends on who is paying.”
I liked Susan.
When we arrived, Richard was seated beside Vanessa.
She wore an engagement ring.
I noticed because it looked remarkably similar to the ring Richard had given me twenty-five years earlier.
Slightly larger.
Richard always believed spending more made a decision better.
Patricia sat across from them.
Steven and Carol were together but looked emotionally miles apart.
I carried the silver anniversary gift box.
Richard saw it.
“What’s that?”
“Something for later.”
Vanessa gave me a careful smile.
I returned it.
Dinner began with strained small talk.
Patricia asked about Emily.
Carol asked about the apartment I was considering in Westerville.
Then Richard raised his glass.
“I have good news.”
Nobody looked excited.
“Bennett Commercial Flooring has a path forward.”
He talked about lenders.
Contracts.
Restructuring.
Then he looked at me.
“And I want to thank Margaret for finally agreeing to put the past behind us and help us move forward.”
I set down my fork.
“No, Richard.”
His smile stayed in place.
“I haven’t.”
“We discussed this.”
“We discussed your proposal.”
Susan opened her folder.
“She did not accept it.”
She placed a letter on the table.
“This is Mrs. Bennett’s written response.”
Richard did not touch it.
“What exactly is her position?”
Susan answered.
“She will not guarantee new business debt, pledge her separate property, or provide additional financing.”
Vanessa turned toward Richard.
“I thought you said that was settled.”
“It is.”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”
Patricia put down her glass.
“Richard, you told me Margaret already signed.”
I looked at her.
“No, Patricia. He told you I signed. There’s a difference.”
Richard leaned back.
“Can we not turn this into another performance?”
That was an interesting request from a man who had served divorce papers between tiramisu and coffee.
Vanessa was still staring at him.
“You said the financing was approved.”
“I said we were getting it approved.”
“You said the money was coming.”
“Vanessa, not now.”
Steven cleared his throat.
“Richard, you told me the same thing.”
Richard turned.
“I told you we had a plan.”
“You said the new arrangement would cover the old contracts.”
Susan intervened.
“If there are disputes regarding company transactions, those should be addressed through the appropriate attorneys. This dinner is not the place.”
Steven nodded.
Patricia was not finished.
“What about my savings?”
Richard stared at her.
“Mom.”
“You told me it was temporary.”
“I explained—”
“You told me Margaret was helping and you only needed mine until hers came through.”
“I did explain that.”
“No.”
Patricia’s voice changed.
For the first time in twenty-five years, she sounded less like Richard’s mother and more like someone who had finally discovered she was standing in the same line as everyone else.
“You told me what you wanted me to believe.”
No one spoke.
Richard looked at me.
“You planned this.”
“I brought a response to your proposal.”
“You turned my family against me.”
I looked around.
Carol studied her water glass.
Steven stared at Susan’s letter.
Patricia looked tired.
Vanessa had removed her engagement ring.
She rolled it slowly between two fingers.
“I haven’t told anyone here what to think.”
Richard pointed at the silver box.
“Then what’s that?”
I slid it across the table.
“Open it.”
He removed the lid.
Inside were copies of the acknowledgment I had signed at our anniversary dinner, his original petition, and Susan’s written refusal of his latest financial proposal.
Richard looked at me.
“You think this is funny?”
“Not particularly.”
I paused.
“But your mother seemed to enjoy the first one.”
Carol made a sound behind her napkin.
This time, she was definitely laughing.
Richard shut the box.
“Twenty-five years, Margaret.”
“Yes.”
“And this is how you want to end it?”
I looked at him.
“You ended it in this restaurant.”
I nodded toward Susan’s letter.
“I’m just declining the loan.”
He pushed his chair back.
“You’re going to regret this.”
Maybe I would regret parts of it.
I already did.
I regretted money I might never recover.
I regretted involving Emily in adult problems she never asked for.
I regretted how many years I had spent turning Richard’s emergencies into my responsibilities.
But one thing I did not regret was protecting what remained.
“Maybe,” I said.
“At least this time it’ll be my decision.”
Susan stood.
I picked up my purse.
Nobody asked me to stay.
Richard was still holding the silver box when we left.
In the parking lot, Susan asked whether I wanted her to drive me.
“I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“I think so.”
I sat in my car for ten minutes anyway.
I did not feel triumphant.
Mostly, I felt tired.
Tired of explaining what I had not agreed to.
Tired of being told that every boundary was an attack.
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