I straightened the folds in my navy-blue dress, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles. It was the kind of dress I’d always thought appropriate for family dinners—not too dressy to make Marissa roll her eyes, but decent enough not to look sloppy. At seventy-seven, I’d long since stopped chasing fashion, but I’d always liked to look neat.
Garrett said dinner would start at seven. I still had an hour. I looked around my living room where every single thing told a story: a picture with James at our golden wedding; little Garrett with his fishing rod and the first fish he ever caught; Toby and Rebecca at graduation.
These pictures are silent witnesses to a time when everything seemed simpler. My gaze lingered on James’s picture. What would he do now?
Fifteen years have passed since he was gone, and I still mentally consult him. “Edith, don’t let yourself get hurt,” he would say. James always knew how to set boundaries, even with his own son.
I, on the other hand, didn’t. The phone vibrated on the table. A message from Garrett.
Smiling, I reached for my glasses, expecting a clarification about tonight. Perhaps he was asking if I needed help getting to their new home, though he rarely offered such help in recent years. “Mom, I’m sorry, but we can’t make it tonight.
Marissa is hosting a dinner for her co-workers. We’ll reschedule for another day.”
I reread the message. Something didn’t add up.
Garrett had called yesterday insisting I be there, talking about some special announcement. I looked at the message again when my phone vibrated with a new notification. “You weren’t invited to dinner.
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