Chapter 2 - The Papers Beside the Dinner Plates
My parents lived in a large suburban home they had renovated so many times that almost nothing remained from my childhood.
The house looked perfect but never felt comfortable.
Every cushion was arranged at the correct angle. Every framed photograph had been selected to support the story Mother wanted visitors to believe. Erica appeared in nearly all of them.
Her graduation portrait from a program she never completed stood on the piano.
Her engagement photograph with a man she never married sat beside the fireplace.
There was only one picture of Michael and me, placed on a narrow shelf near the laundry room.
When we arrived for Sunday dinner, Mother greeted me with a long embrace.
“My beautiful girl.”
She touched my stomach without asking.
“And my beautiful grandson.”
“We don’t know whether it’s a boy or a girl,” I reminded her.
“A mother knows.”
Michael carried a dessert we had bought on the way. Father took it from him without thanks.
Erica stood near the dining table in a pale blue dress, looking nervous.
“I hope we can put everything behind us,” she said.
“What exactly are we putting behind us?” Michael asked.
Mother gave him a warning smile.
“No interrogations tonight.”
Dinner began peacefully.
That should have made me suspicious.
Father talked about harmless subjects. Mother praised Michael’s work. Erica asked about nursery colors and offered to help decorate the baby’s room for free.
Then dessert arrived.
So did the papers.
Father placed a black folder beside my plate.
“This authorizes me to vote your shares for the next twelve months.”
I did not open it.
“You said the papers were routine.”
“They are.”
“Giving you control of my shares is not routine.”
“It is temporary. You will be busy after the baby arrives.”
Michael reached for the folder.
Father pulled it away.
“This is between shareholders.”
“I’m Sarah’s husband.”
“And you own no part of Hartwell.”
The warmth disappeared from the room.
Mother poured tea into my cup.
“Your father is trying to reduce your stress.”
“I haven’t asked him to.”
Erica sighed dramatically.
“Why does everything have to become a battle?”
I looked at her.
“Because your company has received hundreds of thousands of dollars without providing clear services.”
Her face tightened.
“We promised no business arguments.”
“You brought business papers to dinner.”
Father pushed the folder toward me again.
“Sign it.”
“No.”
The word left my mouth before fear could stop it.
Everyone became still.
Michael looked at me with quiet pride.
Father’s jaw hardened.
“Excuse me?”
“I said no.”
Mother sat down slowly.
“You are allowing this man to turn you against your family.”
Michael remained calm.
“Sarah made her own decision.”
“She never behaved this way before she met you,” Erica said.
That was true.
Before Michael, I had confused obedience with kindness.
Father opened the folder and pointed to the signature line.
“This proxy protects the company from instability.”
“What instability?”
He glanced at my stomach.
I understood.
“You think pregnancy makes me incapable of voting?”
Mother pushed the teacup closer.
“Drink. You’re becoming emotional.”
I should have left then.
Instead, I took a sip.
The tea tasted slightly bitter.
I placed it down.
Erica watched the cup.
May you like
Not my face.
The cup.
