Then he walked out.
I had no idea what that meant.
“Where are you going?”
But judging by Martha’s face, she did.
***
Nick and I had been together since we were sixteen.
By twenty-eight, we’d survived college decisions, bad apartments, job changes, and more family dinners than I could count.
I loved him.
I never doubted that.
But judging by Martha’s face, she did.
But Martha was the problem.
She had spent years comparing me to Lydia, Caroline’s daughter.
Lydia had money, taste, beautiful dinners, and, according to Martha, everything I lacked.
The strange part was that I barely knew her.
She’d always been friendly.
The rivalry existed almost entirely in Martha’s mouth.
Martha was the problem.
Nick defended me.
“Enough, Mom. Stop comparing them. I’m marrying Jillian.”
He said all the right things.
Then a few days passed, and we’d all sit around Martha’s table again, pretending nothing had happened.
I helped with that.
Whenever Martha crossed a line, I made a joke or told Nick to forget it.
“Stop comparing them. I’m marrying Jillian.”
I thought being easygoing made me mature.
Mostly, it made things easier for Martha.
***
Even that morning, Martha had found me while I was getting ready.
