“Is it?”
I met her gaze steadily.
“More cruel than forgetting my birthday three years running? More cruel than missing my law school graduation because Julia had a dental appointment? More cruel than hanging up on me when I called from the hospital?”
She blinked.
“What hospital?”
“Doesn’t matter now.”
I picked up my menu, scanning the entrées.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Tell me why.”
I looked up at her.
“So you can feel guilty? So you can apologize and we can pretend everything’s fine?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t need your apologies anymore.”
The waiter returned, and I ordered the grilled chicken. My mother ordered nothing, still staring at me like she had never seen me before. After he left, she leaned forward.
“I didn’t realize you felt this way.”
“I felt this way my entire life.”
The admission came easier than I expected.
“Every award I won, every achievement I earned, it was always the same. Julia did something minor, and suddenly that was the only thing that mattered. I could have cured cancer and you’d still be more interested in Julia’s new haircut.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair?”
I almost laughed.
“You want to talk about fair? Do you remember my 30th birthday?”
She hesitated, and I could see her scrambling through memories.
“You don’t?”
I said flatly.
“I spent it alone in my apartment because you and Dad flew to Seattle to help Julia move into her new condo. She was 26 and perfectly capable of hiring movers, but you insisted she needed family support.”
“Julia needed us.”
“I needed you, too.”
The words hung in the air between us.
“I’ve always needed you. But somewhere along the way, you decided that Julia was the daughter worth showing up for.”
My mother’s eyes glistened.
“I love you both equally.”
“Love isn’t just a feeling. It’s actions. It’s showing up. It’s remembering. It’s being present.”
I folded my napkin carefully.
“You’ve shown up for Julia consistently and completely. You’ve shown up for me sporadically and halfheartedly. Those aren’t equal.”
“I didn’t know you were keeping score.”
“I wasn’t keeping score. I was keeping myself together.”
I took a breath.
“Do you know what it’s like to constantly wonder why you’re not enough? To achieve things that should make any parent proud and have them treated like footnotes? To watch your younger sister get celebrated for doing the bare minimum while you break yourself trying to earn a fraction of that attention?”
She looked down at her untouched salmon.
“You always seemed so independent. So capable.”
“I was capable because I had to be. Because I learned early that I couldn’t rely on you to be there.”
I softened slightly.
“I’m not saying you’re a monster. I’m saying you’ve been consistently unavailable to me while being completely available to Julia. And after 32 years of that pattern, I made a choice to hurt you back to protect myself.”
