Still I went to the party because I had spent years hoping that if I continued showing up calmly my family would eventually meet me halfway. Grief has a strange way of making people hopeful in places where they should probably protect themselves.
The party took place at Travis’s house which was already loud before I even stepped inside. Balloons crowded the doorway and two grocery store cakes sat on the kitchen counter while Dylan’s presents were stacked beside his chair like trophies waiting for attention.
When I walked in nobody noticed me at first because everyone was busy watching Dylan show off a new watch his father had bought him. I stood there holding a small gift bag with a silver necklace for my mother until I finally cleared my throat to make my presence known.
“Oh hi Allison,” Travis’s wife Nicole said casually as if she had just noticed a delivery driver, “You can sit over there.”
The chair she pointed to was squeezed between two of my mother’s friends who were already tipsy and singing along with the music playing in the living room. One of them borrowed my fork after dropping hers and did not even glance at me while she reached across the table.