Chapter 14 - One Dinner Without Diane
Julia came east six weeks later.
Not Thanksgiving.
Work trip.
She brought Ava.
We met at a restaurant near the mall.
Different entrance.
No Walter.
No Graham.
No Diane.
That had been Julia's condition.
I agreed.
Lily and Ava sat at one end of the booth sharing fries.
Julia and I sat opposite each other.
“This is weird,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You still cut burgers in half before eating them.”
“You still notice useless things.”
She smiled.
We survived appetizers.
Then dinner.
No one mentioned our parents until coffee.
Julia asked:
“Mom knows we're here.”
“Of course.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
We stared.
Then both laughed.
Somehow Diane knew anyway.
Probably Walter.
Or Graham.
Or the girls.
The family information economy remained undefeated.
My phone buzzed.
Diane.
I didn't open it.
Julia’s buzzed too.
She looked.
“Same time.”
“Don't.”
She put hers facedown.
Good.
Lily said:
“Grandma Diane?”
We looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“She texted me.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course.”
“What did she say?”
“Have fun.”
Julia and I looked at each other.
No instructions.
No secret request.
Two words.
I let it stand.
After dinner, the girls went with the hostess to look at the dessert case.
Julia leaned back.
“I still don't trust you.”
“I know.”
“You say that too comfortably.”
“I don't trust you either.”
She almost smiled.
“Better.”
I continued.
“You can disappear when you're angry and turn the disappearance into evidence that nobody came.”
Her face tightened.
“Yes.”
“You?”
She looked at me.
“You can make a decision in ten seconds and spend ten years defending the speed.”
That hurt.
“Yes.”
No analysis after.
We sat.
Then Julia said:
“Ava asked if she can call you Aunt Claire.”
I looked toward the dessert case.
She was pointing at something while Lily argued.
“If she wants.”
Julia nodded.
No emotional speech.
Then:
“Do you still have my number from before?”
I smiled.
“I never deleted it.”
Her face changed.
“You couldn't call it.”
“I know.”
“Why keep it?”
“I don't know.”
That was partly a lie.
I knew.
Deleting it would have felt like admitting I had chosen the silence too.
But I didn't need to turn dinner into a diagnosis.
Julia took out her phone.
“What's mine saved as?”
I looked.
JULIA.
She laughed.
“Mine still says CLAIRE DO NOT ANSWER.”
I stared.
“You're kidding.”
She turned the screen.
CLAIRE - DO NOT ANSWER.
I laughed so hard Lily turned around.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Julia changed it.
Just CLAIRE.
Small edit.
Nine years late.
Still useful.
When dinner ended, Julia asked:
“Do we invite Mom next time?”
My first answer was no.
I heard it.
Julia probably saw it.
She didn't push.
I said:
“Not this time.”
“This time is over.”
“You know what I mean.”
She nodded.
“Next time, we ask each other.”
“Yes.”
Not Diane.
Not Walter.
Not our daughters.
Us.
May you like
It sounded simple.
We both knew better.
