And I buy every time.
And then there was the case of the medication.
Six months ago, the doctor prescribed me new blood pressure pills. Expensive, but effective.
Wesley made a big fuss about it.
Mom, are you crazy? Four hundred a month for pills? That’s ruin. Let’s look for cheaper alternatives.
I tried to explain that other medications don’t work for me, that I can be allergic, but he wouldn’t listen.
Thelma backed him up.
Mom, you have to be more frugal. We all have expenses.
And this was coming from people who changed their cell phones to new models every month, who went on vacation to the Bahamas and bragged about their new car.
My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell.
Audrey—Reed’s girlfriend—stood on the doorstep. A sweet, shy girl with a lock of red hair and freckles.
“Hello, Mrs. Thornberry.” She fidgeted nervously with the strap of her bag. “Reed said he might have left his notebook here.”
“Yes, dear. Come in.” I let her in. “I was just going to look for it. Would you like some tea?”
While I made tea, Audrey looked around the living room at the pictures.
“Is that Reed as a child?” she asked, pointing to a picture of a five-year-old boy holding a fishing rod.
“Yes, his first fishing trip with his grandfather.” I smiled, handing her a cup. “He caught such a tiny little fish, but he was as proud as if it was a shark.”
Audrey laughed, and for a moment, the house felt young and alive again.
“Mrs. Thornberry,” she said suddenly, “Reed is very fond of you. He talks about you all the time—about your stories, about how you taught him how to bake pies.”
I felt tears coming to my eyes, but I held them back.
“He’s a good boy.” I hesitated, not wanting to speak ill of my children in front of a stranger. “He looks a lot like his grandfather.”
Audrey helped me find Reed’s notebook. It turned out to be under the couch cushion.
As she was leaving, she suddenly turned around in the doorway.
“I’ll see you tonight. Reed said you’d be at Willow Creek, too.”
I smiled, strained.
“We’ll see. I have a bit of a headache. I’m not sure I can go.”
After Audrey left, I stood at the window for a long time, watching her get into her car and drive away.
Sweet girl. Sincere.
She has no idea that I wasn’t invited to the family reunion, that my own son lied to me so I wouldn’t come.
The decision came suddenly.
I looked at my watch. It was almost two in the afternoon. Dinner was still five hours away—plenty of time to get ready.
I pulled out the dark blue dress I’d tried on yesterday. It still fit well.
Even though I’d lost weight over the years, the low-heeled shoes I’d worn at Thelma’s wedding, the pearl necklace George had given me for our thirtieth anniversary.
I wasn’t going to sit at home and feel sorry for myself.
I wanted to see for myself how my children celebrated without me.
I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a misunderstanding, but a conscious choice on their part.
At five, I hailed a cab.
The driver, a young guy with tattoos on his arms, looked at me in surprise when I gave him the address.
“Willow Creek? Really, Grandma? That’s where the prices are.”
“I know the prices, young man,” I said firmly. “And I’m not your grandmother.”
He shrugged and didn’t ask any more questions.
I stared out the window the whole way, watching the streets of Blue Springs change.
From my humble neighborhood of small houses to downtown with its modern glass and concrete buildings.
Willow Creek was on the outskirts in a picturesque spot by the river.
It was starting to get dark when the cab pulled up to the restaurant.
I asked the driver not to pull right up to the entrance, but to stop a little to the side.
“Wait for me here, please,” I said, handing him the money. “I won’t be long.”
Willow Creek was the most expensive and prestigious restaurant in Blue Springs. It was a two-story red brick building buried in greenery with a terrace overlooking the river.
Only special occasions were celebrated here—anniversaries, engagements, important business deals.
I didn’t go to the entrance.
Instead, I walked around to the side of the building where the parking lot was for guests.
I saw their cars right away.
Wesley’s silver Lexus. Thelma’s red Ford. Reed’s old Honda.
They were all here.
All of them except me.
The pain of the realization was so sharp it took my breath away for a moment.
This wasn’t a mistake, not a misunderstanding.
They really had decided to celebrate without me—lied to me to stay home.
I walked slowly to the windows of the restaurant. The curtains didn’t show what was going on inside, but one side of the curtain wasn’t fully drawn, leaving a narrow gap.
I stood in the shade of the trees, watching my family through that gap.
They were sitting at a large round table in the center of the room. Wesley at the head of the table, Kora next to him—healthy, smiling, without the slightest sign of illness.
Thelma and her husband, and Reed and Audrey, and a few other people I didn’t know—apparently friends of Wesley and Kora.
They were laughing. They were raising champagne glasses. They were enjoying the evening, oblivious to me.
The waiter brought out a huge seafood platter, then another with some sort of elaborate meat platter.
On the table were bottles of expensive wine.
I knew the prices at this restaurant. One dinner like this cost as much as a month’s rent for an apartment.
We’re tight on money, Mom. Could you help with the bills?
Mom, these medications are too expensive. Let’s look for something cheaper.
All this time they’d been lying to me—pretending they were barely making ends meet, begging me for money for emergencies while they spent hundreds of dollars on restaurants, travel, new cars.
I watched Wesley raise his glass in a toast.
Everyone laughed, applauding. Kora kissed him on the cheek.
Thelma added something—laughter again.
I suddenly remember how last year I asked Wesley to help fix a leaky roof.
He said he couldn’t right now, that he was having financial difficulties.
I waited three months until the roof started leaking so badly that I had to put buckets under it.
I ended up hiring a handyman myself, giving almost all of my savings.
And when I had a mild heart attack last winter, Thelma couldn’t come to the hospital because she had an important order at the store.
Reed then sat up with me all night holding my hand.
And now they’re all together—merry, happy, celebrating without me.
It’s like I’m not even alive anymore.
I notice Reed looking around like he’s looking for someone.
Then he leans over to Audrey, asking something. She shakes her head.
They’re talking about something. A concerned expression appears on Reed’s face.
He pulls out his phone, looks at the screen, then puts it back in his pocket.
At that minute, the waiter brings out a huge cake with candles.
Everyone claps, laughs. Wesley puts his arm around Kora. They kiss.
Thirty years together.
Thirty years.
And they hadn’t found a place at the table for the woman who’d given birth and raised Wesley.
I felt a tear run down my cheek. I brushed it away with an irritated gesture.
Now was not the time for tears.
Now was the time for decisions.
Stepping away from the window, I walked slowly toward the entrance to the restaurant.
A young man in a uniform stood at the door—apparently the manager or the maître d’.
“Good evening, ma’am,” he said politely. “Do you have a reservation?”
