Chapter 4 - The Toast
Sunday dinner started almost peacefully. Paul arrived first with dessert — he was Marcus's older brother, calmer by nature, usually the one who redirected conversations before they turned into arguments. Diane came in behind him in a red dress, saw mine, and smiled.
"You look lovely, Cass."
"Thank you."
Dinner opened with Owen telling Paul a very long story about a dump truck. Ethan complained about homework. For a few minutes I actually let myself relax.
Then Marcus looked at Diane. "That red really works on you."
Diane's expression cooled instantly. "Thanks."
He leaned back in his chair, then turned to me.
"See, honey? If Diane were my wife, I'd proudly take her anywhere." He glanced me over. "With you, I'm embarrassed to even walk into a grocery store."
Nobody moved.
My hands started trembling under the table. Months earlier, I would have excused myself and cried alone in the bathroom. Instead I set my fork down.
"Are you finished?"
Marcus laughed. "Don't turn this into some huge thing."
"No. You wanted everyone to hear you. So finish whatever you wanted to say."
His smile slipped. "I was making an observation," he said, forcing the words out.
Diane dropped her napkin onto the table. "Stop using me to hurt your wife."
Marcus stared at her. "What?"
"You compare our bodies. You comment on what I wear. You tell Paul how lucky he is while Cassandra is sitting right there." Her voice stayed level, controlled. "I'm not flattered. I'm uncomfortable."
His face reddened. He turned to Paul instead. "Come on, you know what I'm saying. She could try harder."
"She has been trying," Paul said quietly. "You don't know half of what happens in their marriage."
"I know what just happened at this table," Paul added, and Marcus had no answer for that.
That's when Ethan's chair scraped back.
"Dad, I want to make a toast."
"Ethan, sit down. I'm not in the mood for your nonsense."
"No," I said. Everyone looked at me. I looked at my son. "Let him speak."
Ethan swallowed. "I have one sincere wish for you, Dad. So listen carefully."
The color started leaving Marcus's face.
"I hope when I get married, I never make my wife feel the way you make Mom feel." Silence dropped over the table like a weight. "I hope I never act like somebody's body decides whether they're worth being seen with. And I hope if I ever have kids, they don't have to pretend they can't hear it when I do." He glanced toward Owen. "Because he hears you too, Dad."
Marcus went white.
Ethan lowered his glass. "That's my wish."
Looking at my son in that moment, I understood something I hadn't let myself see clearly before. Ethan hadn't stood up to rescue me. He'd stood up because he'd been waiting — for months, maybe longer — for me to finally say enough, and I hadn't, so he did it for both of us.
Marcus turned to me. "Cass, I was joking."
"You meant every word of it."
"I didn't mean all of it like that."
"No. You just never expected anyone at this table to answer back."
"Let's talk about this upstairs."
"No."
"Not in front of the boys, Cassandra."
I laughed once, sharp. "Now you're worried about what they hear?"
I stood up. "For months you've told me everyone else notices exactly what you notice." I looked at Diane. "You were wrong." I looked at Paul. "You told me other men would've already left me. You were wrong about that too." Then back to Marcus. "And every time you hurt me, you called it honesty. You were wrong about that as well."
I opened the drawer, pulled out his surgery brochures, and set them on the table in front of everyone.
Diane went still. Paul looked down at them and said nothing.
"That was private," Marcus said, his voice low.
"So was my body, until you made it dinner conversation." I met his eyes. "You need to stay somewhere else tonight."
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"You're throwing me out over one dinner?"
"No," I said. "I'm finally responding to everything that came before it."
