Nobody answered.
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"Every birthday."
Her voice shook.
"Every graduation."
She looked at Tom.
"Every Christmas."
Then Sophie.
"Every single time."
She started listing them.
"Dad will be there at six."
"Mom, Dad might bring someone."
"Sophie, please don't start anything."
"Dad, Uncle Daniel is coming. Don't make it weird."
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She looked at all of us.
"I've been doing this since I was 17."
Seventeen.
Suddenly I saw her there again.
Sitting at our kitchen table after Tom moved out.
Asking whether Sophie knew.
Asking whether Christmas would be different.
Asking whether Dad would still come to her school awards night.
I'd thought she was handling the divorce beautifully.
She hadn't been handling it.
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She'd been handling us.
"Every time one of you got angry," Emma said, "somebody threatened not to come."
Nobody spoke.
"Dad wouldn't come if Mom's family was there. Mom didn't want to come if Dad brought somebody. Sophie wouldn't come if Dad had disappointed her again."
