I made coffee and placed shortbread between us.
Owen turned his mug slowly.
“Mom, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
I waited.
“I haven’t been fair to you.”
Something tightened in my chest.
He looked down.
“I knew Christa sometimes said things that hurt you. I told myself it was just different personalities.”
He paused.
“But really, I didn’t want the arguments that would happen if I spoke up.”
I remained silent.
“The night with the ham,” he continued, “I should’ve said something immediately.”
His voice trembled.
“I watched you carry that food out, and I just stood there looking at the floor.”
“I remember.”
“After you left, Christa told her parents you weren’t feeling well.”
He swallowed.
“And I let her say it.”
I felt tears gathering.
“Maya kept asking where her cheesy potatoes had gone. We ended up ordering pizza.”
He looked toward the window.
