“I’m tired.”
“My stomach feels strange.”
“Why don’t we order something instead?”
I understood what she was really saying.
She didn’t want to risk being humiliated again.
So when her sixty-fifth birthday approached, I decided she wasn’t spending another celebration hiding inside her house because strangers had made her ashamed of simply existing in public.
“I’m taking you to dinner,” I told her.
She immediately protested.
“Daphne, I’m perfectly happy staying home.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Restaurants are exhausting.”
“Not this one.”
I had chosen a small Italian restaurant she used to love years ago.
Nothing extravagant.
Just warm lighting, homemade pasta, good bread, and a cozy dining room where people usually seemed friendly.
Eventually, Mom gave in.
“Fine. But don’t tell them it’s my birthday.”
“No promises.”
“Daphne.”
“Fine. No embarrassing birthday song.”
That finally made her laugh.
