“Am I? Tell me honestly, Dad. Why did you really skip the party?”
“I told you, Danny—”
“No. The real reason.”
A long pause. I could hear my mother in the background, saying something I couldn’t make out. Then Dad’s voice came back harder, colder.
“You want the truth? Fine. It’s easier to visit Danny. His house is comfortable. His wife is pleasant. His kids are polite and accomplished. When we’re there, we can relax. We can enjoy ourselves. We don’t have to worry about awkward conversations or feeling like we’re being judged for having opinions.”
Each word was a knife between my ribs.
“Whereas visiting you…” He trailed off.
“Say it,” I demanded.
“It’s depressing, Sarah. You and Marcus are always stressed about money, always complaining about how hard things are. You live in that cramped apartment. Everything feels… difficult. When we visit Danny, we feel proud. When we visit you, we feel—”
“What? Guilty? Ashamed?”
“Uncomfortable,” he finished. “We feel uncomfortable.”
The background noise grew louder—more laughter, someone calling Dad to come back to the dinner table.
“Who else is there?” I asked, though I already knew.
“Danny’s hosting a dinner party. Some of his colleagues, a few neighbors. We should go, Sarah. We’ll talk more later.”
“A dinner party.” My voice was hollow. “You’re at a dinner party at Danny’s house right now. While your granddaughter cried herself to sleep because you didn’t come to her birthday party.”
“She’ll get over it. Kids are resilient.”
“I won’t get over it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
My hand gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles went white. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth, Dad? Why pretend you were coming?”
“We were planning to come, but then this opportunity with Danny came up and it just made more sense—”
“No. Tell me the real reason you don’t want to visit us. Tell me why you’d rather be in Phoenix.”
Another pause, longer this time. When Dad spoke again, his voice had the finality of a judge passing a sentence.
“Because Danny’s family is easier to love, Sarah. His life is something we can be proud of. When people ask about our grandchildren, we can talk about Ethan’s soccer trophies and Emma’s piano recitals. We can show pictures of the pool and the big house. What do we say about Lily? That she’s sweet? That she’s growing? There’s nothing to brag about.”
