After the speeches, the birthday cake was brought forward.
It was large.
White icing.
Gold decorations.
A big seventy-five written across the top.
People gathered around.
The three sons stood behind their father.
Bonnie positioned herself beside Garland.
Somebody handed him a knife.
He smiled for the photographs.
I stayed at my table.
I wasn't interested in pushing my way toward the front.
There were enough people taking pictures already.
One of the women beside me leaned closer.
"Do you want a picture with him?"
I shook my head.
"No, thank you."
She looked at me.
"Are you sure?"
"Quite sure."
She nodded.
I took a sip of water.
The camera flashes continued.
Garland cut the cake.
Bonnie clapped.
The sons laughed.
People cheered.
It was a perfectly ordinary birthday scene.
And perhaps that was the strangest part.
For forty-two years, I had imagined what Garland's life might have become.
I had pictured him with children.
I had wondered whether he had found happiness.
Now I was watching him surrounded by the family he had wanted.
And I wasn't sure what I felt.
Not jealousy.
Not exactly.
Maybe there was a little sadness for the young woman I used to be.
She had wanted the same things.
A home.
Children.
Somebody who stayed.
But she hadn't received them in the way she expected.
And she had still found a way to live.
That mattered.
After the photographs, the cake was served.
A young woman brought slices around the tables.
She placed one in front of me.
"Here you go."
"Thank you."
I took a small bite.
It was sweeter than I liked.
I ate it anyway.
Then Bonnie appeared again.
This time she had a plate in her hand.
She stopped beside our table.
"Having a good time?"
I looked up.
"Yes, thank you."
She smiled.
But it wasn't a friendly smile.
"I'm glad."
She glanced toward the people sitting around me.
"You certainly brought quite a crowd."
One of the women beside me put down her fork.
I answered calmly.
"They're good company."
Bonnie nodded.
"I can see that."
She looked toward the entrance.
Then back at me.
"Did you know all these people before today?"
"Yes."
"From where?"
"Different parts of my life."
She seemed dissatisfied with the answer.
"Interesting."
I didn't respond.
She shifted the plate in her hand.
Then she said something quietly.
"I hope you understand that this is Garland's day."
I looked at her.
"I do."
"I don't want any unpleasant scenes."
"Neither do I."
She held my gaze.
Then she walked away.
I watched her return to the front table.
She leaned toward Garland.
He listened.
Then he looked at me.
I looked down at my cake.
I was beginning to understand that Bonnie had expected something very different.
She had imagined me arriving alone.
Perhaps she thought I would come dressed plainly.
Perhaps she expected me to stand near the wall and look uncomfortable.
Maybe she wanted Garland's sons to see the woman who couldn't give their father children.
She had wanted a comparison.
Instead, she was watching me laugh with people who had shared years of my life.
And I had not even explained who they were.
A little later, one of the sons came over.
This time it wasn't Nathan.
It was the middle son.
He introduced himself.
I greeted him.
He asked whether I was enjoying the party.
I told him I was.
He looked toward his father.
Then he said, "Dad seems surprised you're here."
I smiled slightly.
"Your father sent me an invitation."
The young man nodded.
"I know."
He paused.
Then he asked whether I had known his father before he married Bonnie.
I looked at him.
"Yes."
He seemed uncertain.
"Was it a long time ago?"
"Forty-two years."
His eyebrows lifted.
He looked toward the others.
Then he returned his attention to me.
"That's a long time."
"It certainly is."
He sat down.
For a few minutes, we talked about ordinary things.
His work.
The weather.
The drive.
He was polite.
He didn't seem unkind.
Eventually, he asked whether I had been happy.
I considered the question.
Then I answered.
"Not every day."
He nodded.
"That's honest."
"But I've had a good life."
He looked at me.
I could see that he was trying to understand.
I didn't blame him.
He had grown up with his mother and father.
He had brothers.
He had birthdays.
He had family photographs.
He probably couldn't imagine what it meant to spend your younger years being told you couldn't give somebody the family they wanted.
I looked toward the cake.
The candles were being arranged.
Someone was asking people to gather again.
The young man stood.
"Thank you for talking to me."
I nodded.
"You're welcome."
He walked back toward his father.
I stayed where I was.
The birthday song began.
Everybody joined in.
I sang quietly.
Garland smiled as the room filled with voices.
When the song ended, he blew out the candles.
People applauded.
And for a brief moment, I felt no anger at all.
Just an old sadness.
The kind that comes when you realize the past cannot be repaired, even when everybody involved is still alive.
I folded my napkin.
I looked at the eleven people around my table.
They were smiling.
They were talking.
They were passing cake.
They were home.
And I finally understood why I had brought them.
Not to embarrass Garland.
Not to compete with Bonnie.
Not to prove that I could have children after all.
I had brought them because they were part of my life.
A life that had never needed Garland's approval.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: Garland Finally Came Over to My Table, And His First Question Made Me Wonder What He Had Been Told About My Life
The Birthday Invitation That Arrived Forty-Two Years After My Marriage Ended Had One Cruel Sentence Written at the Bottom
Part 8 of 20
