“You’re my sister,” I said. “That’s all there is to it.”
The aftermath unfolded over the next several weeks.
Paige filed for divorce in June.
Todd tried to fight it, hired some hotshot attorney in a suit that probably cost more than my first car.
But Paige’s lawyer, a woman named Rebecca Chun, who Caleb’s girlfriend had recommended, was sharper and way more prepared.
When Todd’s attorney saw the text evidence, the location records, and the sworn statements from two coworkers, he told Todd to settle and save himself the embarrassment.
Todd settled.
Paige got the house, full custody of Lily, and a financial arrangement that made Todd’s leased BMW feel like the joke it always was.
Todd moved into an apartment across town.
Meredith dumped him 2 weeks after everything came out.
Turns out she wasn’t interested in the version of Todd that came without a house, a wife who did everything for him, and the comfortable life that made him seem like a catch.
The guy who called me a loser for having just an apartment and a paycheck was now the one with just an apartment and a paycheck.
Except mine came with a promotion and a clear conscience.
My dad and I had a conversation in July that I’ll never forget.
We were sitting on his back porch, the same porch where he used to drink bourbon with Todd.
And he said, “I owe you an apology, Anthony. Not just for the dinner. For a lot of things. For a lot of years.”
I didn’t make him grovel.
That’s not who I am.
But I didn’t let him off easy either.
I said, “Dad, I needed you to see me. Not Todd. Me. And you didn’t for a really long time.”
He nodded.
His eyes were red.
Keith Mitchell does not cry.
But he was close.
“I see you now,” he said.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t a movie scene where years of damage get repaired in one conversation.
But it was a start.
And sometimes a start is everything.
Paige and I rebuilt slowly.
She apologized for letting Todd treat me the way he did.
I apologized for the way I handled the October dinner.
We agreed that going forward, honesty was more important than comfort, even when it was messy.
As for me, I’m doing more than fine.
Clare offered me a partnership track that would have made past Anthony’s head spin.
I started dating a woman named Sophie who I met through a cybersecurity conference.
And she’s the kind of person who makes you realize that being patient about finding the right relationship isn’t the same as being behind in life.
Lily calls me Uncle Ant and makes me watch the same movie about a singing fish every time I visit.
It’s the best part of my week.
Last month, Paige and I were sitting on her porch while Lily chased fireflies in the yard.
And Paige said, “You know, Todd used to tell me you were jealous of him. That’s why you were always quiet at dinners. He said you resented his success.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
“Paige, I’ve never been jealous of Todd. I felt sorry for him. A guy who needs to tear other people down to feel tall was never someone I wanted to be.”
She smiled.
“When did you get so wise?”
“Sometime around boyfriend number 11,” I said.
She threw a pillow at my head.
And then she laughed too.
And it was the kind of laugh that told me we were going to be okay.
All of us.
Scarred and messy and imperfect, but okay.
Todd, if you’re reading this, and I seriously doubt you are because reading was never really your strong suit, I’ve got one thing to say to you.
Thanks for calling me a loser at that dinner table.
It was the push I needed to stop being polite and start being honest.
You did me the biggest favor of my life, and you didn’t even mean to.
That’s the most Todd thing I’ve ever heard.
And to everyone else out there sitting at a dinner table swallowing insults because you think that’s what family requires, let me tell you something.
It’s not.
Family requires respect.
Family requires honesty.
And sometimes family requires looking the golden boy dead in the eye and asking him how it feels being boyfriend number 11.
Trust me, the silence at that table is worth.
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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.