Every holiday was the same. I’d show up, cook, set the table, clean up, smile, nod, and sit wherever they told me. Like a maid they didn’t have to pay. They never said it out loud, but it was evident in the way they moved around me. I wasn’t family; I was an employee.
It had been that way since I moved away. When I got a permanent job, my mom started making me understand how lucky I was compared to Lauren. Lauren, who stayed around. Lauren, who married young and divorced even younger. Lauren, who had Carter at 21 and acted like she was justifying everything. And my mom accepted it immediately. She’d say things like, « She’s doing her best, Abby. Be a little supportive. You don’t know what it’s like to be a single mother. » What she really meant was, « You don’t have a husband or a child, so be useful to someone. »
That holiday, I was there at 2:00 PM. Dinner was scheduled for 5:00 PM. Lauren walked in at 3:30 PM, carrying only the purchased pie and Carter complaining of boredom. I was already elbow-deep in mashed potatoes and grease. Mom looked at Lauren and said, « There’s my girl. » To me, she added, « Don’t forget to baste the ham again. It dries out when you forget. »
I didn’t forget. I never forget. But I nodded anyway.
