Several weeks passed.
My appointments continued.
My injuries were healing.
I was beginning to feel more comfortable in my own clothes.
The purple mark on my cheek had faded.
The bandages were eventually reduced.
But the memories didn't disappear as quickly.
Sometimes I still became nervous when someone raised a camera.
Sometimes I still checked whether Dad was watching before I spoke.
Grandma noticed.
She never made me feel foolish.
She simply reminded me that I could take my time.
One afternoon, my aunt called.
She wanted to arrange a small family lunch.
Nothing formal.
Just a few relatives.
Grandma asked whether I wanted to attend.
I thought about it.
Then I nodded.
"Will there be pictures?"
"Probably."
I looked down.
Grandma waited.
I finally said I wanted to go.
"But I don't want to sit behind anything."
Grandma smiled.
"Then we won't put you behind anything."
The lunch was arranged at Grandma's house.
My aunt prepared food.
My uncle brought a dessert.
A few relatives arrived early.
I helped Grandma place napkins on the table.
She let me choose where to sit.
I chose the chair beside her.
Lily sat on my lap.
When the doorbell rang, I looked toward the hallway.
Dad had arrived.
He was carrying a small box.
He greeted Grandma first.
Then he looked at me.
"Hello."
"Hello."
He placed the box on the table.
It contained a little dollhouse.
I examined it.
There were tiny windows and a red door.
It was pretty.
"Thank you."
Dad nodded.
He didn't ask for a hug.
He didn't tell me to smile.
He simply took a seat.
The other relatives arrived.
One of my uncles asked whether I wanted to help him arrange the plates.
I nodded.
We carried them together.
Nobody told me to go upstairs.
Nobody asked me to stay out of sight.
At lunchtime, Grandma sat beside me.
Dad was across the table.
He watched me talking to my aunt.
I was telling her about the dollhouse.
She asked whether Lily would live there.
I said she would have the biggest room.
Everyone laughed.
It was a normal conversation.
I hadn't realized how much I had missed those.
After lunch, my uncle suggested taking a family photograph.
My stomach tightened.
I looked at Grandma.
She noticed immediately.
"Would you like to be in it?"
I nodded slowly.
"Yes."
She smiled.
"Then let's arrange it."
We stood near the living room wall.
I held Lily.
My aunt stood beside Grandma.
My uncle moved closer to Dad.
Someone adjusted a chair.
Then the photographer raised the camera.
Dad looked at me.
"Would you like to stand beside me?"
I hesitated.
Grandma didn't answer.
Nobody pushed me.
After a moment, I moved one step closer.
I didn't stand directly beside him.
I stood between him and Grandma.
That was where I felt comfortable.
The camera flashed.
Then it flashed again.
I blinked.
Everyone laughed.
My uncle said the second picture would probably be better.
I laughed too.
There was no curtain.
No hiding.
No pretending I was upstairs.
When the photographs were finished, Grandma asked to see them.
We gathered around the phone.
In one picture, Dad was looking at the camera.
In another, my aunt was laughing.
In the last one, I was looking down at Lily.
Grandma liked that one best.
"It's honest," she said.
I smiled.
Later, while everyone was having dessert, Dad came to sit beside me.
He asked whether I liked the lunch.
I nodded.
He looked at the family photograph again.
Then he said he was glad I had come.
I didn't answer immediately.
I wanted to tell him that coming had taken courage.
But I wasn't ready to explain that.
Instead, I said, "I liked sitting with Grandma."
He nodded.
"She likes having you here."
I looked at him.
"She always lets me sit with her."
Dad looked down.
He didn't argue.
A few minutes later, Grandma called me to help carry the empty plates.
I stood up.
Dad moved aside to let me pass.
It was a small thing.
But I noticed it.
For once, I didn't have to ask permission to leave a room.
I simply walked where I wanted to go.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: When the Birthday Photographs Were Finally Put Away, Grandma Told Me Something About Family That I Would Remember Long After My Injuries Had Healed
My Father Wanted a Perfect Birthday Photograph, but He Had Forgotten That One Person in the Room Always Noticed the Things Everyone Else Ignored
Part 15 of 20
