I pressed my hands over my face.
“Robert,” I whispered, “what happened to our boy?”
The question hung in the quiet room.
Of course, nobody answered.
Robert had loved Michael fiercely.
He had also been a man who believed family meant showing up when people needed you.
And perhaps that was part of the trouble.
Michael had grown up watching us sacrifice.
We had done without.
We had rearranged our lives.
We had helped without always being asked.
And somewhere along the way, my son had learned to expect that from me.
I wondered whether I had taught him that lesson without realizing it.
Then my phone rang.
Michael.
I stared at the screen.
For one terrible moment, I wanted to answer and apologize.
That old instinct was so strong that my thumb actually moved toward the green button.
I wanted to tell him I was sorry the evening had become uncomfortable.
I wanted to say we could talk about the excursions tomorrow.
I wanted to make it easy for him.
Then I looked at the wet dress hanging in the bathroom.
And I remembered his eyes dropping to his menu.
I let the phone ring.
A minute later, a message appeared.
Michael: Mom, please call me.
Vanessa is upset.
I read it twice.
Vanessa was upset.
Not Are you okay?
Not I’m sorry about what happened.
Not even Did you get something to eat?
Vanessa was upset.
I put the phone down.
It rang again.
This time I answered.
“Hello, Michael.”
“Mom, where are you?”
“In my cabin.”
He exhaled.
“Good.
Listen, can we please talk reasonably?”
“We can try.”
“Vanessa feels like you accused her of something terrible.”
“She wrote the email, Michael.”
“I know, but she was just explaining the family’s needs to the travel agent.”
“Without asking me.”
A pause.
“Mom, it’s not like we expected you to work all day.”
“What exactly did you expect?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
I waited.
Finally, he said, “Well, the kids have plenty of activities during the day.
We thought you could keep an eye on them some evenings and during the excursions they can’t attend.”
“How many evenings?”
“What?”
“How many evenings, Michael?”
“Three or four, maybe.”
“And how many excursions?”
“Two.
Possibly three.”
I closed my eyes.
There were seven nights on the ship.
They had planned for me to supervise three children on most of the evenings and during much of our time in port.
I thought about the money I’d spent.
The savings.
The balcony cabin.
The new clothes.
The excitement I’d felt when I told my friends I was finally going on the trip Robert and I had dreamed about.
“Michael, when exactly was I supposed to enjoy the cruise?”
He sounded irritated.
“Mom, you can enjoy the ship while you’re with the kids.”
“Then why can’t you?”
“Because Vanessa and I need time together.”
“And I don’t?”
“You’re not being fair.”
I laughed.
It wasn’t a happy laugh.
It was the sound that escaped when a person heard something so absurd they couldn’t immediately find another response.
“Not fair?”
“Mom, please.”
“Did you tell your children I was coming to spend time with them?”
“Of course.”
“Did you tell them I was coming to look after them while you and Vanessa went away?”
Another pause.
“We said you’d be helping us.”
I looked around my cabin.
A room I had paid for.
A vacation I had paid for.
A dream I’d been carrying since my husband died.
“Michael, I need you to listen very carefully.”
“Okay.”
“I love Lily, Ben, and Sophie.
That hasn’t changed.
I want to make memories with them.
But I am not your babysitter for this vacation.”
He went silent.
“I will not be responsible for them while you and Vanessa go on excursions.
I will not spend my evenings waiting in my cabin because you’ve booked dinners that don’t include me.
If you want childcare, you’ll have to make appropriate arrangements yourselves.”
“Mom, we’ve already paid deposits.”
“I’m sorry you’re facing a problem.”
“You don’t understand.
Some of those reservations are nonrefundable.”
“Then you should have confirmed your childcare arrangements before making them.”
He took a sharp breath.
I could almost see his expression.
That tightening around the mouth he inherited from Robert whenever he was frustrated.
“You’re putting us in a difficult position.”
“No, Michael.
You put yourselves in this position.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said quietly, “Dad would have helped us.”
That did it.
I felt the tears stop.
I sat straighter.
“Don’t use your father to make me feel guilty.”
“Mom—”
“Your father spent forty-three years trying to give me a good life.
Do you really think he would have wanted me to spend the trip we dreamed about sitting in a cabin while the rest of you enjoyed yourselves?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
My voice had become steady.
“You knew exactly which part of me that would hurt.”
There was a long silence.
Then Michael said, “So what are we supposed to do?”
I looked toward the balcony.
Beyond the glass, the ship was moving through darkness toward an ocean Robert had always wanted to see.
“I think,” I said, “it’s time you and Vanessa started making your own decisions about your children.”
I ended the call.
My hands were trembling.
But this time, I wasn’t trembling from humiliation.
I was trembling because I had finally said something I’d been afraid to say for years.
No.
I changed into comfortable black trousers and a soft white blouse.
Then I went upstairs and found the buffet.
It was bright, cheerful, and full of people.
There were carved meats, salads, warm rolls, pasta, fruit, and desserts arranged beneath gleaming lights.
I filled a plate with a little roasted chicken, vegetables, and mashed potatoes.
Then I carried it to a table beside a window.
I ate alone.
At first, that fact nearly defeated me.
I had imagined eating dinner surrounded by my son and grandchildren.
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