Chapter 4
On Sunday evening, I printed out the offer letter and placed it beside my plate.
The reminder for seven on Monday morning was still in my phone's calendar.
As Evan cut into his steak, I spoke.
"I got a job. I start tomorrow as an event coordinator at the Harbor Hotel."
His knife stopped against his plate.
Diane was the first to look at me.
"Why are you suddenly going back to work? Who's going to make dinner?"
"We can take turns. There's food prepped in the fridge, too."
Brooke put down her phone.
"What about my packages? Some of them have to be signed for in person."
"Have them held for pickup, or schedule delivery for when you're home."
She stared at me as though I'd just canceled a service she'd paid for.
Tyler asked about the salary and laughed when I told him.
"A whole month of work, and you'd get more from one phone call to your dad."
I turned the offer letter toward my husband.
He didn't look at it.
"When did this happen?"
"I interviewed on Thursday. They offered me the job on Friday."
"You went behind my back? You never said anything about going back to work."
"I applied for a job."
Diane's head snapped up.
"You said you were going to the dentist that day."
"Yes. I was afraid I'd have to justify wanting the job before I even got to the interview, and I didn't want you all trying to stop me from working."
Evan laid his knife and fork together.
"So you knew you shouldn't be doing this."
I gripped my napkin.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"My clients go to that hotel. How am I supposed to explain my wife serving people their dinner?"
"I'm an event coordinator. I handle schedules, vendors, and arrangements on-site."
"It's all the same, whatever you call it."
"It isn't to me."
His eyes finally dropped to the offer letter.
"I never asked you to go out and earn money."
"And you haven't been contributing enough to cover the household expenses."
Brooke leaned back a little. Tyler lowered his head and scrolled through his phone, but he wasn't laughing anymore.
Not one of them spoke up for me, even though I'd taken care of everything for them since they moved in.
Evan lowered his voice.
"We can talk about money later."
"I already tried, and you told me to ask my dad. How can you even call yourself a man and say that out loud?"
"Claire."
It was the tone he used to warn me I'd gone far enough.
I picked up my water, took a sip, and set it down again.
Diane reached over and touched her son's wrist.
"Tomorrow won't work anyway. I've invited people to dinner."
I looked at her.
"Who?"
"Evan's new client and his wife. They're coming at six."
"When did you arrange this?"
"This afternoon."
I turned to my husband.
"Did you know?"
"I do now." He picked up his wineglass. "This dinner is important."
"Then book a restaurant."
Diane shook her head.
"I already told them we'd eat here. They're expecting a home-cooked dinner."
"You can cook it."
Her face went rigid.
Evan set his wineglass down hard.
"Don't talk to my mother like that."
"I'm only asking her to make the dinner she invited them to."
"You know she can't manage it all by herself."
I looked around at the five of us at the table.
"She isn't the only person here."
No one answered.
In the kitchen, the dishwasher finished its cycle and beeped three times. Diane automatically looked at me, but I stayed seated.
Evan picked up the offer letter and glanced at the start date.
"Tell the hotel to make it another day."
"It's my first day. I'm not asking for time off."
"Then don't go. We don't need the extra money."
"I need this job, and you don't have any more money to give me."
He stared at me and slowly pushed the paper back.
"Tell the hotel you're not taking it."
The edge of the paper touched my water glass.
I pulled it away, wiped the moisture off the corner, and folded it along the existing creases.
Six years ago, when he'd asked me to quit my job, he'd said it was only temporary.
I hadn't asked how long temporary meant.
"Claire, I'm talking to you."
I put the offer letter in my bag and zipped it shut.
"I heard you."
Evan waited for me to go on.
I stood and put the folding chair back against the wall.
"Tomorrow morning, I'm going to work."