“I’m doing the whole thing live on Instagram this year.”
Dylan carried our bags up to the small bedroom at the end of the hall.
When I unpacked, I hung the dress carefully in the closet, smoothing the fabric.
Diane appeared in the doorway before I’d even finished.
“Oh,” she said, spotting the dress instantly. “Now that’s expensive.”
“It was a treat,” I admitted. “For myself.”
“Mmm.”
I hung the dress
She stepped closer and touched the hem, rubbing it between two fingers.
“Such a shame. Clothes like this are really made for a certain figure, aren’t they.”
“I suppose that depends on who’s wearing them,” I said quietly.
She smiled without any warmth. “Of course, dear. I only meant it’s a waste to buy something so lovely if you fill it out in all the wrong places.”
I held my breath and said nothing.
“Clothes like this are really made for a certain figure.”
“Dinner’s at seven,” she added brightly, as if she hadn’t just sharpened a knife. “Don’t be late.”
Then she was gone, her perfume lingering like a warning.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the dress.
Dylan came in a minute later, whistling, oblivious.
“See? She’s being nice. This is going to be a good week.”
“Dylan, she just insulted me in my own bedroom.”
Then she was gone,
“She compliments in a weird way. That’s just Mom.”
I looked at him, waiting for something more.
It didn’t come.
“Right,” I said. “Just Mom.”
He grabbed his swim trunks and headed for the door, humming again.
And I realized I was already alone in this even with my husband ten feet away.
“That’s just Mom.”
Downstairs, I could hear Diane laughing with her daughters.
Her voice carried up the stairs like she owned every inch of the house.
I glanced once more at the dress hanging there, bright and hopeful and out of place.
***
The next morning smelled like salt and coffee.
For a moment I almost forgot how much I dreaded sitting at that breakfast table.
Then Diane peered over her mug at my plate.
I dreaded sitting at that breakfast table.
“Well, honey, looks like you ate too much for the beach today!” she announced, loud enough for the whole kitchen to hear. “Perhaps you forgot you aren’t eating for two anymore.”
A couple of Dylan’s siblings snickered.
I looked at my husband.
Dylan studied his eggs like they held the secret to world peace.
I let it slide.
“You ate too much for the beach today!”
***
For three days, I survived.
Diane narrated my every meal like a nature documentary.
She informed the beach umbrella vendor that I “used to be so slim.”
She told her sister on the phone, loudly, that some women “let themselves go and blame the baby.”
Each time, the family laughed the same nervous, obedient laugh.
“let themselves go and blame the baby.”
