Chapter 11 - Vanessa Said No The First Time
Vanessa was packing in the guest room.
Not to leave that night.
To reduce herself.
Shoes in boxes.
Clothes folded.
The kind of work people do when they're afraid decisions are coming.
Ava stood in the doorway.
“Dad said he told you first.”
Vanessa stopped.
“He did.”
“You said no?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vanessa resumed folding a sweater.
“Because I loved him.”
Ava frowned.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It did then.”
“How long after Mom died?”
“Four years.”
“Dad said you didn't date until later.”
“We didn't.”
Ava leaned against the door.
“What happened?”
Vanessa sat on the edge of the bed.
“He asked me to dinner.”
“So?”
“I knew it wasn't dinner.”
“Did you want to go?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“I said no.”
Ava waited.
Vanessa looked at her.
“I was terrified I had become exactly what Rachel thought I was.”
“The woman waiting for Mom to die?”
Vanessa flinched.
Ava did not apologize.
“No,” Vanessa said. “But the woman who had made herself indispensable and then benefited from it.”
Ava considered that.
“How long did you say no?”
“Eight months.”
“What changed?”
“You.”
Ava's face hardened.
Vanessa saw it.
“Not like that.”
“Then don't start sentences like that.”
Vanessa nodded.
“You asked me why I never stayed for breakfast.”
Ava didn't remember.
“You were nine. I used to come help with school mornings when Daniel had early meetings. One day you asked why I always left before Saturday pancakes.”
Ava stared.
“What did you say?”
“That I had things to do.”
“You probably did.”
“No.”
Vanessa looked down.
“I was going home to an empty apartment because I didn't trust myself to stay.”
Ava did not know what to do with that.
Vanessa continued:
“Eventually Daniel asked again.”
“And you said yes.”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him about the letter before you married him?”
“No.”
There it was.
The part that would not become tender.
“Why?”
Vanessa's face tightened.
“Because by then it was harder.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
Ava had expected an argument.
The agreement took some of the energy out of her anger.
Vanessa continued.
“At first I thought the letter would hurt him.”
“Then?”
“I thought he'd hate me for hiding it.”
“Then?”
Vanessa looked at Ava.
“I thought if he knew Julia had planned to come home, he'd spend the rest of our marriage wondering what would've happened if she'd lived.”
Ava stared.
“He probably does that anyway.”
Vanessa smiled sadly.
“Yes.”
“So you were protecting yourself.”
“By then, yes.”
Ava sat in the chair opposite her.
“Why did you rip the photo?”
Vanessa did not answer immediately.
Ava waited.
“You said something downstairs.”
“What?”
“You said, ‘Mom would still be here if she knew what this house became.’”
Ava remembered.
The argument had begun over a fundraiser Vanessa wanted Ava to attend.
Ava refused.
Vanessa said Julia would've expected better.
Ava snapped back.
Then held up the photograph.
A weapon.
Not only a memory.
“I said that.”
“Yes.”
“Is that why?”
“It was the thing that pushed me over.”
“That's not an excuse.”
“No.”
“What were you actually angry about?”
Vanessa looked toward the closet.
“I have spent years being compared to someone I loved too.”
Ava waited.
“And instead of telling you that like an adult, I tried to win against her.”
Her voice dropped.
“I ripped up a photograph of my dead friend in front of her daughter.”
Ava looked at her.
Vanessa finally cried.
Not loudly.
Ava didn't move toward her.
Vanessa wiped her face.
“I don't expect you to forgive that.”
“Good.”
“I do need you to know I am sorry.”
Ava nodded once.
Then asked:
“Did you save the other photos because you loved her?”
Vanessa looked at the floor.
“Yes.”
“And hide them because you hated her?”
Vanessa looked up.
May you like
“Sometimes.”
Ava appreciated that answer more than she wanted to.
