Revenue went up.
Morale went up.
Sullivan told me one morning, “I should have done this 5 years ago.”
Coming from him, that was practically a standing ovation.
Jenna and I also made some changes at home.
We started a tradition where every Friday night was Miles night.
Whatever Miles wanted to do, we did.
One week, it was building a terrarium for his beetle collection.
Another week, it was sitting on the back porch looking at stars through his telescope for 2 hours while eating popcorn.
He started opening up more during those nights.
He told me about a kid at school who made fun of his bug collection and how he’d told the kid, “At least I’m passionate about something.”
I almost burst with pride.
He also asked me about Grandma one night.
Just once.
“Dad, is Grandma ever going to say sorry?”
I told him the truth.
“I don’t know, buddy, but I know that what she said wasn’t true, and I know that you deserve to be around people who see how amazing you are.”
He nodded.
Then he pointed his telescope at Jupiter and said, “Did you know Jupiter has 79 moons?”
That was his way of saying the conversation was over.
Meanwhile, the family situation stayed frozen.
My mother hadn’t reached out directly, but I heard through Aunt Linda that she was heartbroken and couldn’t understand what she’d done wrong.
That last part was the killer.
Couldn’t understand.
She’d stood in my backyard and told my brother that my son’s birthday was a waste, that he wasn’t special, while that same son stood 5 feet behind her with a cup of lemonade and a heart full of hope.
And she couldn’t understand what she’d done wrong.
Garrett had gone quiet, too.
He’d sent me one text about a week after the party that said, “I think Mom needs time. Maybe after things cool down, you two can talk.”
I didn’t respond.
Not because I was angry at Garrett, but because I was done being the one who initiated reconciliation.
If my mother wanted to fix this, she knew where I lived.
Drew, to his credit, actually called me about a month later.
He was awkward about it, which was on brand for Drew, but he said, “Hey, I just wanted you to know I think what Mom said was messed up. I don’t know the whole story, but Miles is a good kid, and she shouldn’t have said that.”
It was the most mature thing Drew had ever said to me.
I told him I appreciated it.
He said, “Yeah, well, don’t tell Mom I called you. She’ll cut me out of the Christmas list.”
He was joking, but he also wasn’t.
By the time fall rolled around, my life looked completely different from the inside.
I was still in the same house, same job, same marriage.
But I carried myself differently.
I stopped flinching when my phone rang.
I stopped rehearsing conversations in my head where I defended myself to relatives who’d already made up their minds.
I stopped apologizing for having boundaries.
I felt like I was enough.
Not because anyone told me so, but because I’d finally stopped needing them to.
Then, about 4 months after the birthday party, I got a call from Garrett.
His voice was tense, the way it gets when he’s about to deliver news he doesn’t want to deliver.
Chapter 7: The ultimatum
“Hey,” he said. “So, Mom’s planning a big Thanksgiving dinner. She wants the whole family there. And she specifically said she wants you and Miles to come.”
I was quiet for a moment.
Then I said, “Did she say anything about an apology?”
Garrett sighed.
“She said she’s willing to move forward.”
“That’s not the same thing, Garrett.”
“I know, but it’s something.”
I told him I’d think about it.
And I did think about it.
For about 3 days, I thought about nothing else.
Because a part of me, the kid who mowed the lawn and bagged groceries and never made waves, that part of me wanted to go.
Wanted to sit at that table and pretend everything was normal.
But the father in me, the man who watched his son’s brightness dim in real time, that part of me knew better.
I called Garrett back on a Sunday evening and said two words.
“She apologizes or we don’t come.”
He said he’d pass it along.