The line of customers behind her had gone completely still, except for the teenager who was still recording. I gripped the edge of my register just to stay upright.
Lydia’s mouth opened.
“Maurice?” she whispered.
“I stood next to him at your wedding.”
“Ahh! You do remember me,” Maurice replied gently. “Good. Because I also remember that fateful Thanksgiving.”
Her brow creased, wary, searching his face for what he meant to do with it.
“I remember Kevin’s mother standing up at that dinner and calling you a nobody in front of the whole family,” Maurice went on. His voice never rose. He remained calm.
“I also remember that fateful Thanksgiving.”
Lydia’s whole body flinched then, as if he’d tapped a bruise she’d forgotten was still there.
“Don’t,” she said.
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“A girl who married up. But remained a stain on the family name. Do you remember your mother in law saying the baby you were carrying would never really belong?”
I heard someone behind me draw a small, sharp breath. It might’ve been me.
Lydia’s whole body flinched.
“Two Sundays later,” Maurice continued, “I found you crying in the church parking lot. You grabbed my sleeve. You told me, through tears, that you would never, ever make another woman feel that small.”
Lydia’s hand went to her mouth.
“Maurice, please…”
“I found you crying.”
“Yet, here we are,” he said, and his voice grew softer instead of louder. “Lydia, that young woman you just humiliated in front of my whole store is the mother of Jake’s child. That baby in her belly is your grandchild. And you just became the woman you promised Kevin you would never turn into.”
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