I had taken two city buses to get here, clutching a tote bag filled with the only thing I could offer, homemade chocolate chip cookies I had baked that morning. I walked up the flagstone path to the front door and rang the doorbell. I waited.
1 minute passed. 2 minutes. Three. Finally, the door swung open, and there was Harper, wearing a coral dress that hit just at the knee and heels so high my feet ached just looking at them. Her black hair was pulled back in an elaborate updo. She wore a pearl necklace that caught the late afternoon light.
She looked me up and down with those dark eyes full of disdain. Eleanor. She said my name as if it burned her tongue.
You are early. It was not true. She had told me to arrive at 5, but contradicting her would only make things worse.
I am sorry, I murmured, holding up the bag with my cookies. I brought something to share. Harper looked at the bag as if it contained toxic waste.
Oh, you should not have bothered. You know, we have a caterer for these events. A caterer?
For a simple family dinner? She took the bag from my hands with two fingers as if she did not want to actually touch it and dropped it onto a console table in the foyer. Well, come in, but take off your shoes.
We just had the hardwood floors refinished. I slipped off my worn out loafers while she watched me with that smile I had learned to hate. My socks had a small hole in the heel that I tried to hide.
“Liam is in his home office,” Harper said as she walked down the hall, her heels clicking against the marble. “Do not bother him. He is on an important call.”
Madison will be here any minute. I followed her in my socks, feeling the cold floor beneath my feet. The house smelled of expensive perfume and scented candles.
Everything was spotless, as if no one actually lived there. Modern art hung on the walls, and designer furniture filled every space. In the dining room, the table was already set with china plates, crystal glasses, and silverware.
I counted six settings, six people for dinner. Sit over there. Harper pointed to a chair at the corner of the table, the furthest from the head.
And please do not touch anything. The plates are imported. I sat in silence, hands in my lap.
I was wearing my best blouse, a beige one I had washed and ironed that morning. My black trousers were a little shiny at the knees, but they were the only presentable thing I owned. I had pulled my gray hair back into a simple ponytail.
I did not have the money for salons or hair dye. Harper disappeared into the kitchen and I was left alone in that enormous dining room, feeling smaller than ever. I looked at the photographs hanging on the wall.
Liam and Harper in the Hamptons. Liam and Harper in Paris. Liam and Harper at their wedding.
There was not a single photograph of me. It was as if I did not exist in my own son’s life.
The doorbell rang and I heard voices in the entryway. Madison had arrived. Her shrill laugh filled the house as Harper greeted her with hugs and air kisses.
“Sister, you look spectacular,” I heard Harper say. “That silver dress is gorgeous.” They appeared in the dining room together, linked arm arm-in-arm like two queens.
Madison saw me, and her smile widened. “Oh, Mrs. Eleanor,” she said with fake sweetness. “What a surprise to see you here.”
“I thought these dinners were just for close family. I felt the sting of her words, but I said nothing.” Harper laughed.
Madison, do not be mean. Eleanor is family. Even if she lives so far away, we almost never see her.
They sat together on the other side of the table and began talking to each other, completely ignoring me. They talked about boutiques I could never visit. About restaurants where one meal cost more than what I earned in a week.
Liam finally appeared half an hour later. My son, my only son, walked into the dining room with his phone in his hand, checking emails. He was 38 years old, but he looked tired with deep circles under his eyes.
“Hi, Mom,” he said without really looking at me. “How have you been?” Before I could answer, Harper interrupted him.
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