Chapter 16 - Margaret’s Birthday Table
Margaret turned seventy on a Sunday in June.
She invited twelve people to dinner.
Then thirty-two arrived.
“Your grandmother doesn’t understand numbers,” Emma whispered.
Margaret heard her.
“I understand them. I reject their limitations.”
The party took place at the Moretti family house outside Lake Forest.
I had avoided large gatherings there since the divorce.
Too many rooms contained old versions of me.
The wife smiling beside Vincent.
The mother making excuses.
The daughter-in-law pretending that being included meant being protected.
This time, I arrived in my own car.
Vincent did not meet me at the door.
He was helping Emma hang paper lanterns in the garden.
Margaret embraced me.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
“I know. I’m practicing gratitude instead of surprise.”
She had changed too.
At dinner, I sat beside Daniel.
Vincent sat across from us.
Everything went well until Anthony Moretti arrived late.
Vincent’s uncle had spent most of his career on the company board.
He was also one of the two directors who had voted against removing Lawrence.
He kissed Margaret’s cheek.
Then looked at me.
“So this is the famous reunion.”
The table went quiet.
I set down my fork.
“There is no announcement.”
Anthony smiled.
“Yet.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“Uncle.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“No, you’re not,” Margaret said.
Everyone stared at her.
She sipped wine.
“I’m seventy. I’ve decided to save time.”
Emma covered a laugh with her napkin.
Anthony looked irritated.
“I only meant that it’s good for the family.”
There it was.
Not good for Claire.
Not good for Vincent.
Good for the family.
Meaning the name.
The company.
The photographs.
Vincent spoke before I could.
“My relationship with Claire is not a corporate asset.”
Anthony raised his eyebrows.
“Everything becomes corporate when your name is Moretti.”
“That thinking caused enough damage.”
The temperature at the table dropped.
Anthony leaned back.
“I defended you during Lawrence’s nonsense.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You’re welcome.”
Margaret set down her glass.
“Anthony, eat the potatoes or leave.”
Daniel nearly choked.
The conversation moved on.
But later, I found Anthony in the library.
Or rather, he found me.
“You should be careful,” he said.
“With potatoes?”
He did not smile.
“Vincent is vulnerable.”
“To what?”
“Sentiment.”
I stared at him.
“He nearly lost control of the company because he abandoned a board vote for a school emergency.”
“My daughter fainted.”
“And she was fine.”
Two years earlier, that sentence might have made me doubt whether my expectations were unreasonable.
Now it made me angry.
“She was his child before she was fine.”
Anthony sighed.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“That’s what concerns me.”
He lowered his voice.
“Lawrence is gone, but the board remains divided. Investors want stability. A remarriage would help.”
I laughed.
Anthony frowned.
“You think that’s funny?”
“I think you’re standing in your sister’s library suggesting I marry your nephew to calm investors.”
“I’m saying reality matters.”
“So do I.”
I walked toward the door.
He caught my arm.
Not hard.
But enough.
“Claire.”
I looked at his hand.
He released me immediately.
Vincent stood in the doorway.
His face changed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Anthony said.
I answered at the same time.
“Your uncle suggested we remarry for the stock price.”
Vincent stared at him.
Then laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was unbelievable.
“You’re done.”
Anthony’s face hardened.
“This is Margaret’s house.”
“And you’re done discussing Claire.”
“I’m trying to protect what your father built.”
“My father built a company. Not my life.”
Anthony stepped closer.
“Your judgment has become unreliable.”
Vincent did not move.
“No. My priorities changed.”
I watched him.
Not because he defended me.
The old Vincent could defend people dramatically.
What mattered was that he did not ask me to soften the moment afterward.
He did not apologize for Anthony.
He did not explain that family was complicated.
He simply opened the door.
Anthony left.
Later, Margaret brought out her birthday cake.
Seventy candles were wisely rejected.
Emma gave a speech about her grandmother’s inability to make small dinners.
Everyone laughed.
Vincent sat beside me.
Under the table, his hand rested near mine.
Not touching.
Waiting.
May you like
I moved my fingers across the space between us.
And took it.
