Chapter 3: Dresses and Double Standards

Rachel smoothed her hair, her voice defensive. She looked at me as if she genuinely believed she was right.

I was shaking with anger. "You all have your reasons, but my wife and I get a monthly retirement pension of $4,000 together. Can’t we even eat what we want? Whose clothes are you saving on? Whose food are you cutting back on?"

My voice cracked, the hurt bleeding through. I looked at Susan, her eyes glistening with tears, and my throat tightened.

Ethan burst into tears, clutching Susan’s sleeve, the sound shattering the tension in the room.

Ethan’s cries pierced the heavy air, the sharp, honest fear of a child. Nothing else mattered in that moment but his trembling sobs.

Susan quickly hugged him, rocking him gently and murmuring, "Don’t argue, don’t argue… It doesn’t matter if we eat the pineapple or not. It’s not even cut yet. I’ll go to the store and see if we can return it."

She rocked Ethan gently, murmuring soothing words, trying to patch up the moment as best she could.

"No returns!" I snapped, glaring at Rachel and Matt. I wasn’t about to let them take this from Susan.

My voice was low and final. The matter was settled.

"Your mom’s never had to put up with this from me. Now that she’s old, you can’t humiliate her!"

I looked each of them in the eye, daring them to say otherwise.

"If you want money, go earn it yourselves. If you can’t, and still expect us to bail you out, at least show some respect."

The words hung heavy, a final line in the sand.

I led Susan back to our room. We needed to get away from all that noise.

We retreated, the door closing softly behind us. I sat beside Susan, her hand in mine, both of us too tired to speak.

That pineapple? Susan never ate it. She gave it to the neighbors. I found out the next morning when Mrs. Jenkins thanked her for the treat. Susan just nodded, her smile small and sad. It hurt to see her give away something she wanted so much.

The next morning, I found the pineapple missing from the kitchen. Mrs. Jenkins from next door caught me outside, beaming as she thanked Susan for the surprise. Susan just smiled, looking tired and a little defeated.

Early the next morning, Matt showed up at our bedroom door, looking embarrassed, rubbing his face. He apologized, blaming the whiskey and his bad mood, trying to laugh it off, but his eyes never quite met mine.

He looked sheepish, mumbling his apology. He even gave himself a little slap on the cheek, as if that would make up for it. I could tell he was trying to save face, but I wasn’t in the mood for theatrics.

Rachel hovered behind Matt, her voice soft and conciliatory. She tried to make excuses—said the weather was hot, pineapple might upset Susan’s stomach, that they’d both had too much to drink and just got carried away. I wasn’t buying it, but I let her talk.

"Dad, we didn’t mean it. Please don’t be mad."

She put her hand on my arm, her eyes pleading. It was the same look she used to give me when she wanted a new toy.

I just grunted and looked away. Their apologies felt hollow.

Rachel turned to Susan, giving her that pleading look. "Mom…"

Susan sighed and patted my shoulder. "We’re family, Mike. There’s no need to hold a grudge."

Susan’s voice was gentle, her hand warm on my arm. She always believed in letting things go, even when she was the one hurt.

Once Susan spoke, most of my anger faded. I let out a breath, feeling the tension leave my body.

Rachel perked up, seizing the chance. "Let’s all get out of the house, go downtown, maybe grab some lunch or do a little shopping."

Susan squeezed my hand, her eyes asking for peace. I nodded. Sometimes you just go along to keep the calm.

We just meant to stroll around, but when we got downtown, a dress boutique caught my eye.

The storefront was bright and inviting, with mannequins in flowing dresses behind sparkling glass. It reminded me of the shops Susan used to love.

I glanced at Susan—she was even more captivated than me. Her eyes lingered on a white dress with blue flowers in the window.

Her eyes lit up, gaze fixed on a white dress with delicate blue flowers. I hadn’t seen her look at clothes like that in years.

I grinned and tugged her inside. "Come on, Susie. Let’s take a look."

Rows of dresses lined the shop, all kinds of patterns, each one exquisite. The air smelled of lavender, and soft music played in the background.

The shop was filled with the gentle hum of music and the scent of lavender sachets tucked among the racks. Every dress looked like it belonged in a storybook.

Susan especially liked a white dress with blue floral patterns. She touched it over and over, her eyes shining with excitement.

She used to love wearing dresses, all kinds of styles, and every one looked great on her.

But since she moved in to help with Ethan, Matt once said, "Wearing a dress didn’t look like ‘grandma clothes.’" After that, she packed her dresses away.

That comment had stung, I could tell. She traded her favorite dresses for old cardigans and sweats. It was just one more thing she gave up, quietly.

I flagged down the owner, asking for Susan’s size. "Go try it on," I told her, giving her a little nudge.

The owner, a cheerful woman with a kind smile, hurried over with the dress in Susan’s size, chatting about how lovely it would look on her.

Susan hesitated. "Do you think this is too young for me?"

She looked at me, uncertainty clouding her eyes. I hated seeing her doubt herself.

"You always loved dresses," I reminded her, giving her hand a squeeze.

She smiled, remembering. I squeezed her hand again, reminding her she was still the same woman inside.