Eli had just finished high school.
Despite the constant tension between him and Grant, I kept telling myself that time would eventually soften both of them.
That evening, Eli came downstairs wearing black slacks, polished boots, and a flowing burgundy blouse he loved.
He looked nervous.
I hugged him.
“You look wonderful.”
He smiled.
“I wasn’t sure if I should wear it.”
“You should wear whatever makes you feel like yourself.”
Grant heard me.
His expression darkened immediately.
He did not say anything then.
But I recognized that look.
Grant collected anger.
Saved it.
Then released it when he believed he had an audience.
For most of dinner, he stayed unusually quiet.
Relatives talked.
Eli laughed with his cousins.
For a few hours, I convinced myself we might survive the evening without a fight.
Then my sister asked Eli whether he had thought about college.
Before Eli could answer, Grant said:
