For three weeks, Beth and I barely spoke.
She sent photographs of the baby every few days.
I responded to some of them.
Cute pajamas.
Look at those cheeks.
She’s getting so big.
I never ignored the baby to punish Beth.
I also stopped pretending photographs of my niece were invitations to resume an argument I had already explained.
Mom adjusted badly.
She called every few days with updates I hadn’t requested.
“Beth only slept four hours last night.”
“Lily has a little rash, but the pediatrician says it’s nothing.”
“Josh’s parents are visiting this weekend.”
Finally I said, “Mom, you don’t have to report on them.”
“I’m just trying to keep everyone connected.”
“I know.”
“I hate this.”
“I know that too.”
She sighed.
“I feel like I’m constantly choosing sides.”
“You aren’t.”
“It feels like I am.”
“Then stop.”
There was a pause.
“How?”
“If Beth complains about me, tell her to call me.
If I complain about Beth, tell me the same thing.”
“You hardly complain about her.”
“Exactly.”
Mom didn’t appreciate that.
Still, she stopped carrying messages between us.
Six weeks after the baby was born, Dad turned sixty-three and insisted on having everyone over for a Saturday cookout.
Michael asked whether I wanted to skip it.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
He smiled a little.
“At least that’s honest.”
I nudged him with my shoulder.
We arrived early.
Dad was outside arguing with the grill.
Mom had made enough potato salad for thirty people despite there being twelve of us.
For the first hour, everything was ordinary.
Then Beth arrived with Josh and the baby.
I walked over immediately.
“Can I see her?”
Beth nodded.
My niece was wearing a yellow romper covered in tiny lemons.
“She looks ridiculous,” I said.
Beth laughed.
“I know.
I love it.”
That laugh felt familiar.
For a second, she was simply my younger sister again.
I touched the baby’s foot.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Beth watched me.
She didn’t say see.
She didn’t tell me I was fine.
That mattered.
Later, Aunt Susan arrived carrying a gift bag.
She hugged Beth and immediately leaned over the stroller.
“Oh, look at little Lily.”
My shoulders tensed, but I kept arranging paper plates.
Then Susan said, “I think it’s so beautiful that you honored Anna’s baby.”
The plate in my hand stopped moving.
Across the yard, Michael looked up.
Beth went completely still.
Susan smiled at me.
“When your mom explained the name, I cried.”
I looked at Mom.
Mom’s face had gone pale.
“What exactly did she explain?”
Susan’s smile faded.
“Oh.”
Beth stepped forward.
“Anna, don’t.”
I turned toward her.
“Don’t what?”
“Not here.”
“You told people she was named after my daughter?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Susan looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“You said the name was a way of keeping Lily in the family.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
My throat tightened.
“Did you tell Aunt Susan I approved?”
“No.”
Susan hesitated.
“I thought…”
Everyone was quiet now.
Dad turned off the grill burner.
I looked at Susan.
“It’s not your fault.”
Then I looked at Beth.
“Did you tell other people that?”
Beth crossed her arms.
“A few people asked.”
“And what did you say?”
“That the name already meant something to our family.”
“That sounds like an honor name.”
“I can’t control what people assume.”
“You can when you deliberately lead them there.”
Mom stepped between us.
“Can we please not do this at your father’s birthday?”
I looked at her.
“You told Susan too?”
Mom’s eyes filled with panic.
“I said Beth had her reasons.”
“What reasons?”
“Anna…”
“What did you tell her?”
Susan quietly slipped away.
Dad rubbed the back of his neck.
Josh came outside from the kitchen, noticed everyone’s faces and stopped walking.
Mom lowered her voice.
“I said maybe this could become something beautiful eventually.”
I stared at her.
“For whom?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It keeps being what you mean.”
Beth shook her head.
“You always do this.”
I turned.
“Do what?”
“Make everyone explain every word until they sound terrible.”
“Then say words you mean.”
“I mean that this does not have to be ugly.”
“It wasn’t ugly until people started lying about it.”
“Nobody lied.”
“Josh thought you had talked to me.”
Beth looked away.
“Mom thought you knew I would understand.”
Nothing.
“Aunt Susan thought your baby was named to honor mine.”
Beth snapped, “Because people want a good story, Anna.”
The yard went silent.
She looked immediately sorry.
But I wanted the rest of it.
“What’s the real story?”
Beth laughed bitterly.
“You want me to say I’m selfish.”
“I want you to say what happened.”
“I liked the name.”
“That’s part of it.”
“I didn’t think you owned it.”
“Also true.”
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