Page 27 of Unbreakable
Who’s to say whether that’s healthy or unhealthy?
“Do you have anything to drink?” Carla interrupted my reverie.
“Oh, yeah,” Dylan said. “J, can you get her some of that syrah from your family’s place?”
“Of course,” I said, reaching for one of the wine glasses I’d already set out. I’d been up since six working through the final details: triple-checking my oven schedule, setting out the placings, and leaving as little room for Carla to critique me as possible. Careful not to splash a single drop of red wine on my white blouse, I poured Carla the promised glass.
“Isn’tGreyson’s hair getting a little too long? He’ll get confused for a girl with hair like that,” Carla said, peering into the living room where the kids, mercifully, were playing somewhat peacefully.
“Ma, it’s just the hockey flow,” Dylan said. “I’ve had long hair too.”
“Yours was never like that. I bet you get it all the time, don’t you, Jeanine?”
“I haven’t had a problem with Greyson being misgendered,” I said with as even a tone as I could muster, cutting into my perfectly moist and plump turkey. Who had I become that I prided myself on perfect turkeys and lovely white blouses? Twenty-seven-year-old me wouldn’t recognize me now.
“He’s going to get made fun of,” Carla went on, and I gently tipped my neck to crack it. “You’ve got plenty of time, Jeanine. Can’t you just take him after school someday?”
“I’ll consider that. Thanks for the tip.” I forced a smile and Dylan’s hand landed on my knee under the table. Was he stifling me? Urging me to keep my mouth shut? My remark seemed innocent on the surface, but I was meeting Carla’s passive-aggressive nature.
“What do you do all day, Jeanine?” Carla asked, sitting back and swirling her wine glass.
Dylan stopped chewing, his arm going stiff where he still held my knee. “Would anyone like more turkey?”
“Would love some,” Phil cut in, lifting his plate. “Great gravy, kiddo. Dylan’s got him a hell of a chef.”
“Well, he should. He’s busy all the time earning a living so she can sit back and relax. He’s given her everything. Least she can do is keep up the house and keep him fed.”
I was shaking, my jaw quivering from clamping it shut so hard. My tongue pressed into the back of my teeth. My mother-in-law was launching one of her classic arguments against me, though this time was more overt than usual.
“Mom,” Dylan warned. “That’s no way to talk about Jeanine.”
“What, Dylan? I worked full-time and never missed a practice or game for you. Your hair was always cut. Your clothes were always clean. I just did it. All Jeanine has to do is drop the kids off at school and pick them up at three. She can afford all the help in the world, and she still can’t manage to get her kids’ hair cut.”
Heat rushed to my neck, my eyes fixed on my plate. It wasn’t just that she was trying to break me—it was that some of what she said was true. I was embarrassed. In theory, I should have been able to do it all. But every day felt like the tallest, steepest mountain to climb, even if I knew it was just a routine day. I couldn’t handle things I could have easily handled in California. I was having more episodes of staring into space, of sitting in the floor and fixating on a crumb, but not being able to move to pick it up.
She was right. I should have been able to get Greyson’s hair cut.
But that wasn’t the point. This was my house, and she was being so critical of my every move without knowing just how much of a miracle it was that I got everyone where they needed to be on time and the clothes washed and folded and the house cleaned.
My fork dropped on the bone china with a clatter, my hands trembling.
“I am right. Here.” I seethed, drawing a shaky breath. “Do not talk about me like I can’t hear you.”
“Kids, why don’t you go turn on the movie?” Dylan said. “I got it all set up. Grey just has to hit play.”
“Do we need to clean our plates?” Alice asked.
“No, sweetie, I’ve got it,” I squeaked out. “Go enjoy the movie.”
“Tell Mommy thank you for dinner,” Phil said, keeping the peace. Hell, his own son didn’t encourage the kids to do that. “We’ll call you back for dessert.”
With a few mutters of “thank you,” the kids took off for the living room.
Dylan sucked in a breath. “Mom, I appreciated you being there for me, but we have three kids. It’s a little different.”
“Three kidsshewanted, and now she can’t handle them.”
“Carla,” Phil objected, drawing the line for once.
