“There are nachos in my lavender.”
“They’re just kids, Bessie.”
“You told them to throw garbage in the pool.”
“You had our key to feed Musk.”
She sighed as though I had called to complain that the moon was too bright.
“You have a pool cleaner!”
“We have a filter, Marie, not a municipal waste department.”
“Honestly, don’t be selfish. Tommy had the best birthday he’s ever had!”
Behind me, Glenn slowly sat down.
Marie continued. “You and Glenn don’t even have children. Who else is the pool for?”
“You and Glenn don’t even have children.”
That sentence landed exactly where she intended.
Glenn’s jaw dropped, his eyes going wide.
We had chosen not to have children. It was private, considered, and nobody’s tragedy.
But Marie treated it like unused storage space.
I looked through the glass door at our ruined backyard.
Then I smiled.
“You’re right.”
It was private, considered, and nobody’s tragedy.
