At first, everything seemed almost normal.
People laughed.
Mark opened gifts.
His mother gave a toast.
Everyone clapped.
But then Claire started telling stories.
Stories about Mark.
Stories about their marriage.
Stories that made everyone laugh except me.
“Remember when you got stuck in that snowstorm?” someone asked.
Claire laughed.
“Oh, Mark was terrible. He couldn’t even change a tire.”
Mark laughed.
“You still remember that?”
“I remember everything.”
She looked at him for a second too long.
Then she smiled.
I watched them.
There was familiarity between them that made me feel like I was sitting outside a room I wasn’t allowed to enter.
Then Claire reached across the table and touched Mark’s hand.
“You haven’t changed.”
Mark smiled.
“No.”
I looked down at my plate.
I told myself not to react.
I told myself I was pregnant.
Emotional.
Tired.
Maybe I was imagining things.
Then dinner continued.
Halfway through the meal, Claire stood up and began clearing plates even though several people were still eating.
From the kitchen, she called out,
“You’ve moved everything around in here. No wonder nobody can find anything anymore.”
I stared at Mark.
He said nothing.
I followed him into the hallway.
“Please tell her to stop,” I whispered. “She’s acting like I’m the guest in my own house.”
