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“That’s why I’m here, so I can leave the man alone. We are under the same roof twenty-four seven. You like Ryan better than you like me.”
“Baloney. Who’s got baby Madelyn?”
“No worries, Mother. She’s taken care of. So! Where do we start?”
“Right in this bedroom. I moved everything from the attic when I had that space made into the master suite that wasn’t.”
“Oh! When you were married to the carpenter?”
“Yes, and thanks for the memory,” Pam said, snickering. “This box on top is all of your baby things. Should we start here?”
“Okay. I thought we’d start with Brent’s stuff, but mine is okay. I don’t have any memories I need to avoid.”
Pam handed Lisa a photo of a pregnant Pam, standing front and center, a relic of her youth taken by Jack. The women studied the photo together.
“Your father made such a big deal out of my appearance when I was pregnant with Brent that I went overboard staying in shape with you, trying to reproduce the praise I got from him. It was almost abusive.”
Lisa studied the picture more closely. “You don’t even look pregnant.”
“No. I guess that was the point. He told anyone who would listen about me wearing high heels and capris right after Brent was born. I was always trying to get his attention. Sick.”
“Why is that sick? We all do that. You want your husband’s attention, you do what he wants, you try to look like what he wants, dress in what he likes. It’s never-ending.”
“Ryan’s not like Dad,” Pam said. “Not like Jack. Not at all.”
“He did everything in his power to be exactly like Dad for a long time. And when he stopped, he had a mental breakdown. Now my job is to make sure Ryan is protected.”
“You’re taking good care of him, sweetheart. Ryan reminds me so much of Daddy, it’s almost like he’s here with us.”
“He’s not Daddy, though, thank God,” Lisa mumbled.
Ignoring the jab, Pam dug through the top layer of items in the box, handing things off to Lisa or holding them up for her to see.
“This little dress. Oh my God, I remember it like it was yesterday. You wore this home from the hospital.”
“It’s so tiny! My daughters were too big even as newborns to wear anything this small.”
“You were a tiny thing. Your father came into my room, took one look at you, and started to cry.”
“Daddy was a crier!” Lisa said, giggling, shuffling through the stacks of photos. “Why aren’t these in an album somewhere?”
“I started to scrapbook. It was in fashion at the time. But then I got busy being a mom and didn’t have time to craft.”
“I’ll do it, Mother. I’d enjoy it. I bet Ryan would, too. What else is in here?”
They spent the next hour sorting through ephemera and photos, old nursery school papers, and projects of Lisa’s that Pam had kept all these years.
“Look at this!” Lisa cried, holding up a formal portrait from her senior prom, her date Brent’s friend Eric Jacob, who was currently living with Julie Hsu. “I should send this travesty to Julie.”
“She’d love it,” Pam said, glancing at the photograph.
Pam remembered the dress Lisa had worn, a couture original that Jack had gotten for her from one of his fashionista friends.
“God, that dress,” Lisa said, giggling. “Everyone, including the principal’s wife, was in awe.”
“You were just gorgeous. Look at the décolleté! Daddy had pulled me aside. ‘Maybe the dress is a mistake,’ he said. I told him to relax. I was sure you were so out of everyone’s league that you’d be safe.”
Lisa snorted. “Is that why I was always alone?”
