Chapter 7 - MY DAUGHTER-IN-LAW SAID SHE WAS TRYING TO HELP TOO
Laura cried before she apologized.
I let her.
That may sound cold.
It was not.
I was simply finished treating tears as an emergency requiring the nearest woman to abandon the original subject.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
She almost smiled.
“You’re doing the Grace thing.”
“I’m learning.”
Laura wiped her face.
“For saying something was wrong with you wearing the bikini.”
“Did you think something was wrong?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
Good.
Truth.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
She looked toward the ocean.
“My mother would never wear one.”
“That is not an answer.”
“She’d say it was undignified.”
“And do you agree?”
Laura frowned.
“I thought I did.”
Past tense.
Interesting.
She continued:
“My mother was forty-five when she stopped wearing sleeveless shirts.”
“Why?”
“Her arms.”
“Were they dangerous?”
Laura laughed despite herself.
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Her mother made comments.”
Of course.
We could probably trace this stupidity back to the invention of mirrors.
Laura said:
“I grew up hearing women talk about their bodies like renovation projects.”
I understood that.
“Too big.”
“Too soft.”
“Too old.”
“Need to hide this.”
“Distract from that.”
“Flattering.”
Slimming.
Age-appropriate.
Words that sounded practical enough to pass as neutral.
“What do you say around Grace?” I asked.
Laura looked uncomfortable.
“Not much.”
I waited.
“Laura.”
She sighed.
“I tell her which pictures are flattering.”
“Do you tell Ethan?”
“No.”
“Why?”
She looked away.
Exactly.
“I tell her when a shirt fits badly.”
“Badly or differently than you prefer?”
“That’s unfair.”
“Probably.”
I softened.
“But answer.”
“Sometimes differently.”
Laura stared at her hands.
“I have told her to stand straighter in pictures.”
“Reasonable.”
“To angle her body.”
“Less reasonable.”
“To suck in once.”
“There.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
That was becoming the family anthem.
We did not mean it.
Intent had become a comfortable couch everyone sat on while consequences stood outside.
Laura looked at me.
“You really never said things like that to Catherine?”
I laughed sadly.
“Apparently I specialized.”
That disarmed her.
“I thought you were going to pretend.”
“So did I.”
We sat in silence.
Then Laura whispered:
“Grace edits every picture.”
“I know teenagers do that.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Every picture.”
Something in her tone changed.
“She won’t let me post candid photos.”
“Why?”
“She says her face looks weird.”
“She’s fifteen.”
“I know.”
Laura’s eyes filled again.
“And I have spent three years helping her choose the better one.”
“Better meaning?”
“Thinner.”
The word landed.
Neither of us enjoyed it.
“I thought I was helping her feel confident.”
I looked at Laura.
“My mother would have liked that sentence.”
She closed her eyes.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.”
“No.”
She nodded.
“I deserved that one.”
Maybe.
I was trying not to become addicted to moral superiority.
It was surprisingly pleasant.
That afternoon, the cousins fought.
Ava came into the kitchen crying.
Catherine followed.
Grace remained upstairs.
“What happened?” I asked.
Ava shook her head.
Catherine answered.
“Grace made a comment.”
“What comment?”
“Mom.”
Ava looked embarrassed.
I recognized it.
Body shame has a particular posture.
Shoulders forward.
Arms crossing the middle.
Eyes down.
“What did she say?” Catherine asked gently.
Ava whispered:
“She said my shorts make my legs look huge.”
My stomach turned.
Catherine closed her eyes.
Laura came in behind us.
“What?”
Ava repeated it.
Laura’s face changed.
“I’m going to talk to Grace.”
Ava immediately said:
“No.”
Everyone stopped.
“Why?”
“She’ll hate me.”
Laura softened.
“She shouldn’t have said that.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
Ava looked at Catherine.
“I just don’t want to wear them now.”
There.
The damage already done.
Catherine crouched.
“You can change if you want.”
Ava nodded.
Then Catherine added:
“And you can keep them on if you want.”
Ava thought.
“I want to keep them.”
“Okay.”
She walked outside.
Catherine watched her go.
Then turned toward me.
Her face was furious.
“That.”
I knew.
“That is why I’m angry.”
“Catherine—”
“No.”
She pointed upstairs.
“You think Grace invented this because she has TikTok?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Laura looked between us.
“What are you talking about?”
Catherine laughed sharply.
“Our family has been telling girls what parts of themselves need management since before Grace was born.”
She looked at me.
“Mom just got to be on the receiving end this time.”
I flinched.
Michael entered.
“What happened?”
Laura told him.
He went upstairs.
Catherine said:
“Of course he does it now.”
Laura stared.
“What does that mean?”
“He’ll defend Ava because it’s obvious.”
Catherine looked at me.
“But when the comments sound like concern, everyone calls them love.”
I had no defense.
That evening, Grace apologized to Ava.
Ava said:
“Okay.”
Not forgiveness.
She had learned that too.
Grace remained angry.
At everyone.
Mostly herself.
At dinner, Ethan made one joke about the silence being creepy.
Michael said:
“Not tonight.”
Then Catherine surprised me.
“Mom, I brought old albums.”
I remembered her luggage.
“You did?”
“I thought we’d look at beach pictures after dinner.”
She held my gaze.
“There’s one you need to see.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“The Myrtle Beach trip.”
The room went quiet.
Catherine stood.
“I didn’t remember I had it until I started packing.”
She walked upstairs.
When she returned, she carried a thick blue album.
She placed it in front of me.
Opened to July 2000.
There we were.
Thomas.
Michael.
Me.
A grinning sixteen-year-old Catherine in a bright-yellow bikini.
I stared.
“You wore it.”
Catherine’s voice became cold.
“For exactly seven minutes.”
Then she turned the page.
The next photograph showed the same beach.
Thomas and Michael in the water.
Me under the umbrella.
An empty chair beside me.
Catherine pointed.
“You made me change.”
I looked at the empty chair.
Then at the first picture.
Someone had drawn a black line across Catherine’s stomach.
Ballpoint pen.
I touched it.
“Who did that?”
Catherine stared at me.
“You.”
May you like
```
```text
Related Stories
