For the first time that evening, the so-called grown-ups actually had to behave like adults.
Uncle Rob complained he’d only had one drink, despite the fact I personally watched him finish three bourbons. Aunt Diane insisted she thought Carol was “handling everything.” Emily cried quietly, not because of the money, I think, but because her engagement dinner had turned into a courtroom. Brandon wrapped an arm around her shoulders and asked the manager for a calculator.
My mother tried one final time.
“Sophie,” she said softly now, “please don’t do this to me.”
That had always been her favorite sentence. It turned her into the victim and me into the villain. For years, it worked perfectly.
But that night, something inside me finally refused to move.
“I’m not doing anything to you,” I said. “I’m leaving.”
I walked out to my car, grabbed Emily’s gift, and returned with it. She met me near the entrance, wiping tears from her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
