The next morning, Mom called again.
I answered because I wanted to hear what she had to say.
She sounded tired.
"Jenna, we need to sort this out."
I was standing beside the kitchen counter.
Eli was eating cereal at the table.
I lowered my voice.
"What exactly needs sorting out?"
"Yesterday got out of hand."
I looked at my son.
He was concentrating on getting the last pieces of cereal from his bowl.
"Danielle insulted Eli."
"She shouldn't have said it that way."
"That way?"
Mom sighed.
"You know what I mean."
"No, I don't."
There was a long pause.
Then she said Danielle had been upset.
I almost laughed.
"Mom, Eli was the one she insulted."
"I know."
"Did she apologize?"
Another pause.
"No."
I closed my eyes.
"Then what are we discussing?"
Mom said she wanted the family to move forward.
I asked her whether moving forward meant pretending the conversation hadn't happened.
She didn't answer directly.
Instead, she said everybody had been uncomfortable.
I looked down at the counter.
There was a small piece of marshmallow stuck to the folded towel from the casserole.
I picked it off.
"Mom, I need you to understand something. Eli heard every word."
"I know."
"He has been hearing things like that since he was three."
"I know, Jenna."
"Then why are you asking me to make this easier for Danielle?"
Mom started crying.
I hated hearing her cry.
Even then.
That was one of the things that had always made it difficult to stand my ground.
I had spent years confusing my mother's sadness with my responsibility.
But I didn't take back what I had said.
After we ended the call, Dad sent me a message.
He said I had embarrassed everybody.
I read it while standing in the kitchen.
I wanted to ask whether he had been embarrassed when Danielle spoke.
I wanted to ask why nobody had stopped her.
Instead, I put the phone away.
That afternoon, Eli asked whether we were going to Grandma's house again soon.
I told him I wasn't sure.
He nodded.
Then he asked whether Lucy could come over sometime.
I said we could talk about it.
He seemed satisfied.
I was not.
I kept thinking about the way he had withdrawn his hand at the table.
It was a small movement.
But I couldn't stop seeing it.
On Monday, I went back to work.
I answered emails.
I checked insurance documents.
I attended a meeting about a commercial policy renewal.
Everything outside my apartment continued as usual.
Nobody at the office knew that my family had broken something important over Thanksgiving dinner.
At lunchtime, Mom sent another message.
She said Danielle wanted to explain herself.
I stared at the screen.
I wondered what explanation could make those words acceptable.
I didn't respond.
That evening, Danielle finally called.
I answered.
"What?"
She sounded offended.
"That's how you're going to speak to me?"
I sat down.
"What do you want?"
She said I had misunderstood the entire situation.
I asked her what part I had misunderstood.
She said she had been making a joke.
I reminded her that she had repeated the insult after I asked her to stop.
She said I had challenged her in front of everybody.
I felt my jaw tighten.
"You mean I asked you to repeat what you said about my son?"
"Yes. You made me look terrible."
I was quiet for a moment.
Then I asked whether she thought Eli had felt good sitting there.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she said I was always looking for a reason to make her the villain.
I ended the call.
I didn't shout.
I didn't argue.
I simply ended it.
For the rest of the evening, I thought about how easily Danielle had turned the conversation away from Eli.
She hadn't asked whether he was okay.
She hadn't asked whether he had cried.
She hadn't asked whether he understood what she meant.
Her only concern was how she had looked in front of the relatives.
That told me more than another argument ever could.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Message I Finally Sent My Family Was Short, but It Changed What They Could Expect From Me
I Kept Bringing My Son to a House Where His Own Aunt Made Him Feel Like He Didn’t Belong
Part 6 of 20
