The Way We Feel

Chapter 21

       

The soft clanking of utensils and the muted sounds of chewing filled the silence around the crowded dinner table, and I couldn't stand it anymore.

"Someone please say something."

"What?" Mom asked, glancing around at her children and grandchildren from the head of the dining room table. "We're enjoying our meal. It doesn't mean anything that we're a little on the quiet side."

Mumbled sounds of assent from my brothers and sisters-in-law paired with wide, innocent eyes and the blissful ignorance of my nieces greeted me then.

Harry stayed focused on his meal.

I looked at all of them one by one. Mom, who shrugged and raised her brows, her eyes wide as if to say, "Nothing to be suspicious about here." Then, Will and Jenny—Will, who glanced at Jenny for approval, then smiled and nodded when she shot me a smile. Then, Mark, whose head was practically in his dinner he was eating so fast, and Emily, who was the only one looking at me with something like pity in her eyes.

They all knew. And I knew that they knew. And they knew that I knew that they knew. And they also knew that I didn't want to talk about it.

Awkward non-conversation was the unfortunate result.

"Gracie, don't put that whole piece in your mouth, you'll choke," Lilly said, oblivious to the tension in the room, only focused on her little sister's eating habits.

Five-year old Gracie did just as her sister said and set the big piece of chicken down, already tearing it apart with her fingers.

Harry glanced sideways at me, and when he caught me staring, smiled half-heartedly, continued chewing carefully.

I took a deep breath, hating every moment.

My family never had quiet dinners. For as long as I could remember, we made polite conversation at the very least, and were screaming over each other at best. It's just the way we were, and the way we always would be.

The last time I could remember a family dinner this quiet was after my last miscarriage, when everyone was walking on eggshells around me. I wasn't eager to relive those days. And I'd spent the better part of the last month tip-toeing around my husband, wondering how to help him cope with this loss—my second miscarriage—all while trying to deal with it myself.

Silence was the last thing I wanted from the rest of the people I loved.

"Please don't do this," I said, my voice quaking with emotion I was doing my best to hide.

"Do what?" Mom asked quickly.

I could feel their eyes on me. Harry's hand came to my knee beneath the table. I tried to smile. "Don't clam up on me now."

It served to make everyone chuckle a little, but it didn't erase the sadness in their eyes. The heartbreak I would've done everything in my power to avoid causing them. The heartbreak that stemmed directly from me.

After Harry and I had gotten ourselves on the same page last week, we'd decided to take a few days for ourselves before we told my family. To reconnect and to allow ourselves to feel whatever we were feeling with each other's support. So, he didn't go to any writing sessions for the next couple of days, allowing us to spend some much needed time together.

We didn't do anything spectacular. Grocery shopping, walking around the city finding little pockets of happiness where we could, which included eating at our favorite restaurants and spending some time in Central Park. All of it was just the right kind of simple normalcy we'd needed.