“Mom, do you remember my 18th birthday?”
The question hit me like a punch.
How could I forget?
It had started so well.
I had spent weeks planning the party because I wanted Andrew to feel celebrated.
He had just graduated from high school. Even after everything he and Marcus had argued about, I kept hoping time would soften them both.
Andrew came downstairs wearing black slacks, polished boots, and a flowing burgundy blouse he absolutely loved.
He looked nervous.
I hugged him.
“You look wonderful.”
He smiled.
“I wasn’t sure if I should wear it.”
“You should wear whatever makes you feel like yourself.”
Marcus overheard us.
His expression darkened immediately. He didn’t say anything then, but I recognized the look. The one that meant he was storing his anger for later.
For most of dinner, he stayed unusually quiet.
Our relatives chatted, Andrew laughed with his cousins, and for a few hours, I convinced myself we might actually survive the evening without another fight.
Then my sister asked Andrew whether he’d thought about college.
Before Andrew could answer, Marcus spoke.
“He needs discipline before he needs a degree.”
The room fell silent.
Andrew set down his fork.
“I’m doing just fine.”
Marcus ignored him.
“No. You’re confused.”
I reached for Marcus’s hand under the table.
