They were eating later than normal, probably due to the complexity of a perfectly, cheesily blended risotto, so she hoped that dinner would be a quick affair in order to get the kids to bed at a reasonable time.
Maybe Brynn, who was two hours ahead, would still be up, and Hallie could get more details on this feelings wheel business. Possibly even employ it for herself; the big emotions she’d been staving off all week weren’t doing anything for her well-being.
“You don’t like the risotto?” Claire asked between negotiating with Elliot to use his plastic fork and taking bites of her own meal.
It took Hallie longer than it should have to realize she was the one being addressed, and she looked up like a rabbit who’d been caught in the garden, her eyes darting around.
For the most part, she liked her sister-in-law, even if it felt like they had nothing in common. And she really didn’t blame Claire for adopting the same general indifference that the rest of her family employed toward her.
Hallie had learned, over the last seven days, that behavior modeled at home wassoimpactful. Claire, as part of the Thatcher clan, was just doing what she believed was normal.
Hallie quickly chewed the bite of salad she’d been working on, though she’d wanted to make it last as long as possible. “It looks like it has parmesan and cream in it.”
Claire gave her a strange look. “Are you on a diet or something? Babies can pick up on disordered eating, just so you know. Instilling healthy eating habits early is so essential.”
Hallie cleared her throat and looked at Claire. “So true,” she agreed, trying not to smirk, “but I’m allergic to dairy. It looks delicious, though.” She added that last part for good measure, in case her sister-in-law took it as a personal affront that Hallie’s body rebelled against casein and whey proteins.
“No, you aren’t,” her mom refuted swiftly. Like an allergy was something Hallie would lie about.
“I am,” she said in a more questioning tone than she would have liked. She was almost thirty. Of course she knew whether she was allergic to something as common as dairy. Every few years she danced in the flames, just to see if her reaction had lessened. Over the years, the most problematic reaction had remained her skin, which broke out in itchy, red hives if she chanced more than a bite of anything that aggravated her allergy.
Her mom shook her head emphatically. “You grew out of that.”
Hallie tipped her head toward her brother. “No. Mason grew out of it. I did not.”
Her mom looked at Mason for confirmation, who agreed. “I did grow out of my dairy allergy. I’m not sure about Hallie.”
Why was her mom talking to Mason like he was the arbiter of facts about her own body!? The sensation she’d had this morning, like a scream was bubbling up in her throat, roared back to life.
Instead, she played with the edge of the napkin on her lap and tried to make herself stay calm. “I never grew out of mine, and I’d prefer not to eat some just to prove to you that I’m telling the truth.”
“You ate the pizza we ordered the other night,” her mom continued to argue.
Since she’d come to Colorado, it had been like this. She was either ignored, dismissed, or refuted. Sometimes, all three.
Hallie shook her head, even as she considered lying just to make this conversation stop. “I had breadsticks.”
Her mom made a noncommittal sound, like she still didn’t believe her butfor the peacewas going to be the bigger person.
Did they really think so little of her that they believed she didn’t know the facts about herself? Or did they just refuse to accept anything that contradicted the narrative they’d created for their happy little bubble here?
The craziest thing was, until about a year and a half ago, she’d shared the apartment at the inn where she still lived todaywithher parents. Saw them every single day, in fact. They’d only started spending the bulk of their time in Colorado when Claire had been over halfway through her pregnancy.
It was becoming painfully clear that even though they all hadn’t talked a lot when they’d lived together—except if it was about managing the inn—she’d been paying a lot more attention than they had over the years.
She knew that her mom had a limit of two cups of coffee a day. Each with a single creamer. And that, when her mom had lived on-site, she weirdly preferred the shelf-stable plastic ones that they left out overnight for guests as opposed to the fresh carafe of half-and-half the kitchen put out each morning.
In contrast, the woman who birthed Hallie didn’t even know that she’d had a milk allergy for her entire existence.
It was easy for details of her parents to come to mind. For instance, her dad only used Smithson-brand tools. He had been responsible for most of the maintenance at the inn when he’d been around more, and every year, she’d figure out which tool he was still missing from the Smithson line and make sure she bought him that one.
Remembering that only made her frown. Because she also remembered, then, that after all those years of compiling him the perfect collection, he’d left them in a haphazard pile last year when they’d started traveling to Colorado more.
But to Greg’s credit—in spite of his tempestuous relationship with Candace that often bled into all of their work lives—he’d immediately taken on organizing them himself. Now, all thetools lived inside of a small shed on the property that he’d set up as something of a clubhouse.
And even if she wanted to smile when thinking about the inn and all the things she loved about it, a wave of frustration mingled with hurt mingled withangerwashed over her.
The reality crashed through her, like she’d been punched in the stomach. Her parents had never really seen her. They didn’t even know her. They’d never taken the time to get to know her.
