My chair.
“That’s where I’m sitting,” I said.
Claire looked at me.
Then smiled.
“There’s plenty of space.”
She tilted her head.
“Are you really that insecure?”
I felt my face burn.
I wanted to throw her out.
Instead, I looked toward the hallway.
Mark was standing there.
Watching.
Waiting.
I expected him to defend me.
He didn’t.
He simply said,
“Ladies, tonight is supposed to be about my birthday.”
That was when I understood something.
Mark wasn’t confused.
He was allowing this.
Dinner began at seven.
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.
