“You always do this thing where you make it sound sinister.”

I leaned back in my chair and looked at the ceiling for one second, gathering patience not for her sake but for mine.

“What exactly am I making sound sinister?” I asked. “My son eating off his knee on the concrete while other children sat at the table? My daughter standing there trying to find space no one intended to give her? Which part needs a more generous interpretation?”

Melissa exhaled hard through her nose. “The kids don’t care about that stuff the way adults do.”

“Mine did.”

“That is because you make them self-conscious.”

Daniel looked at me then, and I could tell he had heard enough. But I held up a hand. I wanted her to keep going.

Sometimes the truth comes out not when someone is furious, but when they are sure you will go back to doing the work of misunderstanding them.

“You know what I think?” Melissa said. “I think you’ve always come into this family with a chip on your shoulder. Like you’re waiting for us to look down on you. Nobody is doing that. We were busy. It was a birthday party, not a seating chart at the White House.”