The Week Before the Party
The days that followed required a particular kind of internal discipline.
She smiled at the right times. She reminded Frank about guests he had forgotten to invite. She let him believe she was softening, trying harder, becoming the version of herself he had always wanted her to be.
At school pickup, Mia slipped her hand into Whitney’s and asked if she could wear her rainbow dress to the birthday dinner.
“You’ll outshine the cake,” Whitney told her.
Mia grinned and skipped ahead toward the car.
A woman from Frank’s office stopped Whitney in the grocery store and said she must be a saint for pulling this whole celebration together.
Whitney smiled and said nothing more than was necessary.
At home, Spencer lingered near the kitchen one afternoon holding his school picture, watching her with the careful attention of a child who senses that something is not being said.
“Are you okay, Mom?”
She pulled him into a hug and held on.
“You three are my whole world,” she told him. “Don’t ever forget that.”
He leaned into the hug and nodded, and she could feel the small relief in his body even though he did not fully understand what was happening.
Saturday arrived.
She put on the dress Frank found least objectionable. She curled her hair. She let Mia dab a little glitter onto her eyelids because her daughter insisted it was magical, and some arguments were worth losing.
Frank looked her over when she came downstairs, gave a nod of measured approval, and told her to keep up the effort for the evening.
“That’s the plan,” she said.
