Chapter 11
Emily turned on Mother completely after that.
Not because she loved Evan.
I wasn't naive.
Because she finally understood what Mother thought children were.
Raw material.
“You did this to us.”
Mother looked at her.
“Did what?”
Emily laughed.
“This.”
She pointed between herself and me.
“Made everything a contest.”
Mother rolled her eyes.
“You were always jealous of Claire.”
“Because you made sure I was.”
Silence.
Dad looked down.
Emily continued.
“When Claire won something, you asked why I didn't.”
Mother said:
“Motivation.”
“When I won something, you asked why Claire let me.”
“Competition.”
“When Dad praised one of us, you punished the other.”
“Discipline.”
Emily laughed bitterly.
“Every ugly thing gets a better word with you.”
Mother's expression hardened.
“Stop whining.”
There it was.
Emily smiled.
“Of course.”
Then looked at me.
“She did this with food too.”
I stared.
“What?”
“When we were kids.”
Memory surfaced slowly.
Dinners.
Dessert.
Mother's rules.
Nothing as obvious as Evan today.
Or maybe it had been.
We were children.
We normalized what adults repeated.
Emily continued.
“If one of us misbehaved, she gave the other dessert.”
Dad whispered:
“Diane.”
Mother snapped:
“What?”
Emily laughed.
“You don't even remember.”
Mother shrugged.
“You both survived.”
I looked at her.
“That isn't the standard.”
“It should be.”
I almost pitied her.
Almost.
A person so emotionally starved she believed survival proved good parenting.
Emily looked toward Evan.
“That slap wasn't new.”
Mother stared.
“No.”
Emily continued.
“It was just the first time Claire watched you do it to her child.”
Silence.
That was true.
Mother had always been careful around me.
Public warmth.
Private pressure.
A better dress for Emily if I obeyed.
A canceled outing if Emily complained.
Affection distributed like currency.
I looked at Dad.
“You watched.”
He stared at me.
“You always watch.”
His face collapsed slightly.
That mattered more than denial.
Mother looked irritated.
“Oh, stop making him guilty.”
I turned.
She continued.
“Your father worked.”
“And you controlled the house.”
“Yes.”
Proud.
“And now?”
Mother looked toward Evan.
“I was trying to save him from becoming another version of you.”
My jaw tightened.
“What is wrong with me?”
She smiled.
“You think love should be unconditional.”
Silence.
There.
The whole disease.
She continued.
“Nothing is unconditional.”
“Food?”
“Earned.”
“Safety?”
“Maintained.”
“Affection?”
Her smile sharpened.
“Reciprocated.”
I looked at my son.
Three years old.
Mother followed my gaze.
“You think he loves you because you're you?”
I stared.
“He loves you because you give him everything.”
Evan couldn't hear.
Good.
Mother continued.
“Stop giving.”
She shrugged.
“See how long that lasts.”
I stepped toward her.
“You tested that today.”
“Yes.”
No shame.
“You wanted him hungry.”
“I wanted him to understand.”
“What?”
“That tables have rules.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You wanted him to understand love could be withdrawn.”
Mother's face hardened.
I continued.
“Food first.”
Nothing.
“Then staying with me.”
Nothing.
“Then maybe my affection if he sided with you.”
Her eyes narrowed.
She had planned further.
I saw it.
“What?”
Mother said nothing.
I looked at Robert Jr.
He smiled.
That was enough.
“What else?”
He shrugged.
“Nothing serious.”
I stared.
He continued.
“Once Evan stayed here, he'd start adjusting.”
“To what?”
“Different routines.”
“What routines?”
Mother answered:
“He stops calling for you every five minutes.”
I felt cold.
“How?”
Silence.
Emily whispered:
“Mom.”
Mother lifted her chin.
“He learns that crying doesn't bring Claire running.”
I stared.
“You were going to ignore him when he cried for me.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Until he stopped.”
Emily closed her eyes.
Dad looked sick.
Mother shrugged.
“Children adapt.”
I looked at Evan.
Then at her.
“No.”
“What?”
“They remember.”
Mother laughed.
“Three-year-olds forget everything.”
Thomas spoke from the doorway.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
He looked at Mother.
“Sarah remembers the lake house.”
Diane's face changed.
Thomas continued.
“She remembers crying until she vomited.”
Silence.
“She remembers you standing outside the door.”
Mother said:
“That was different.”
May you like
Thomas stared.
“You said she'd forget too.”
