“I’ll ask her,” I say. “I can’t promise she’ll say yes.”
“No,” Karen says. “I don’t suppose she will. But ask.”
I sit at the table for another twenty minutes. I eat Karen's potatoes because they're good and because eating is an acceptable activity that doesn't require conversation. I drink the wine. I accept my father's silence as the response it is—maybe he was trying his best to process this.
Karen talks about a book the club is reading. My father discusses the neighbour's renovation plans. The conversation carries on as if I haven't just reorganised the shape of my life on this table.
I say thank you for dinner. I put on my coat and walk to the car. I sit in the driver's seat and grip the steering wheel and breathe—in through the nose, hold for four, out through the mouth.
Then I call Jani.
She picks up on the first ring. She's been waiting.
"Hey."
"Jani, I told Dad."
Silence. Three seconds. Four. Five. I can hear her breathing on the other end—the particular rhythm of a woman processing information that touches her deepest wound.
"Whoa. How did he take it?"
"He was very quiet."
"That sounds about right." Her voice is soft. "Did he say anything?"
"No but did nod."
"That's the most Dad could possibly do."
I laugh—a short, wet laugh.
"Lena?" Jani's voice shifts. It gets softer. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm—yeah. I'm just. I've been so afraid."
"Of Dad?"
"Yeah and of everything."
"Is she good to you? This woman?"
I think about Rhonda. About a year of trying to be invisible. About a woman who finally, today, decided that visibility mattered more than fear.
"She's getting there," I say. "I think she’s trying to be good to me."
“Okay.” Jani’s voice levels out again. “Okay. Then I’m proud of you.” And then: “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
"Thank you, sis.”
"Was it worth it?"
"I don't know yet. Ask me again in a month."
She snorts. "I'll ask you on Sunday."
"Alright fine."
“Oh—one more thing,” I say, before she can hang up. “Karen said something tonight. She said maybe it’s time they had you over for dinner. If you’d come.”
