Page 165 of End Game

I hate making my mother cry, and I hate even more that some old, deeply trained part of my brain immediately interprets her tears as evidence that I have done something wrong.

I haven’t, and I know that.

Two things are capable of being true at the same time. My mother can be genuinely hurt by this situation, and I can still be right about the boundary I set.

“I wanted you here,” she says quietly. “I wanted Cami here. I wanted Micah here, too. But I also wanted your brother and his family here.”

“I understand.”

“I didn’t know how to do both.”

I hold her gaze. “So you moved us.”

She flinches.

Across the table, Cami’s eyes find mine, while Micah stays very still beside her.

Mom shakes her head. “That’s not how I meant it.”

“I know it’s not.”

And that’s the entire fucking problem.

I run my thumb slowly along the edge of my coffee mug, using the repetition to keep myself measured before I continue.

“I know you aren’t trying to punish us. I know this wasn’t intended to make Cami feel like she caused any of this. But regardless of the intent, we’re the people having the separate Christmas brunch.”

Silence settles around the table.

Margot looks down at her drink, while Dad exhales and reaches for his coffee.

My mother’s face falls further.

I continue before we get so focused on reassuring her that we avoid the point entirely.

“Ben is going to walk into the ‘normal’ Christmas dinner tonight. Mike and the kids will be here. Sarah and Theo will be here. Tori and their girls will be here.” I pause because saying it aloud makes the problem feel even clearer. “From Ben’s perspective, what changed? Who is the problem?”

My mother opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“That doesn’t mean you should exclude him,” Cami says quietly.

Every person at the table turns toward her.

She visibly dislikes becoming the center of attention, but she continues.

“I don’t want anyone thinking that’s what I’m asking for.”

“We aren’t asking for that,” I tell her.

“I know. I just—”

Micah settles his hand over hers on top of the table.

She stops speaking long enough to look at him and takes a breath before continuing, “I don’t want to be the reason your family is split.”

“You aren’t.” The answer comes out faster and sharper than I intend, enough that Cami looks at me.

I force my tone down before I add, “He did that. You didn’t.”