Part 2: Of course I remembered.
How could I forget?
I had been planning that party for weeks. I wanted Andrew to feel loved and celebrated. She had just graduated from high school, and although her relationship with Marcus had been strained for years, she still expected a good night to calm things down.
Andrew went down the stairs dressed in black pants, polished boots and a beautiful burgundy blouse that moved gently as he walked.
I was nervous.
I hugged him and told him it was wonderful.
He smiled softly.
“I wasn’t sure if I should use that.”
“You should wear what makes you feel yourself,” I said.
“Marcus told me.”
His face changed immediately.
At first he didn’t say anything, but I recognized that look. It meant he kept his anger for later.
During dinner, he was unusually quiet. The relatives spoke, Andrew laughed with his cousins, and for a brief moment I allowed myself to believe that the night would go without another conversation.
So my sister asked Andrew if I had any plans to go to college.
Before Andrew could answer, Marcus interrupted him.
“It needs discipline more than a college degree.”
The whole table was quiet.
Andrew dropped the fork.
“I’m fine.”
Marcus ignored him.
“No, you are not. You are confused.”
I reached out to Marcus under the table.
“Please don’t do that.”
He pulled out his hand.
“If you want people to respect you, you should enlist in the military.”
No one spoke.
Marcus kept his gaze on Andrew.
“Maybe then you will finally learn to be a real man. I’m trying to protect you from a world that won’t be kind to you.”
Those words were suspended on the table like smoke.
I remembered my niece crying in the next room. I remembered my mother whispering Marcus's name as a warning. But most of all, I remembered Andrew's face.
He didn't seem angry.
He seemed shattered.
He got up.
“I don’t have to sit here listening to this.”
Marcus lay in the chair.
“You have spent your whole life running away from the truth.”
Andrew looked at me.
For a terrible second, I felt like I was being asked to choose.
I should have gotten up.
I should have gone with him.
Instead, I stood there, paralyzed by shock, fear and shame.
Andrew left the dining room. A moment later, I heard him running up the stairs. Then the front door closed.
I thought I needed air.
I thought I'd be back.
I didn't know this would be the last time I'd see my son in six years.
Afterwards, the guests went silently, one by one, offering shamed apologies as if they themselves had caused the damage. I washed the dishes I barely remembered using, while Marcus was sitting in the living room watching TV as if nothing had happened.
“Are you going to apologize to him?” I asked.
