She looked straight at Patricia and said, “Do you remember what Dad told me the year I got engaged?”
Patricia’s smile slipped a little.
My mother didn’t wait for an answer.
“He said, ‘Marry the person who shows up when the work starts. The rest is just decoration.'”
Nobody said a word.
My aunt gave a short laugh. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the man you’re mocking spent twenty-eight years showing up.”
My mother pointed toward my father, who was standing by the serving table with barbecue sauce on one sleeve.
“When the roof leaked, he fixed it. When Dad got sick, he drove him to appointments. When Mom couldn’t get up the stairs anymore, he built the ramp himself.”
Patricia shifted in her chair.
My mother kept going.
“And when Dad wrote his will, do you know what he said about him? He said, ‘Your husband is the only one in this family who never asks me for anything.'”
The room went completely still.
My grandfather had been gone for years, but everybody knew those sounded exactly like his words.
Patricia stared down at her plate.
My mother folded her hands on the table. “So if we’re measuring people by what they contribute, I’m very comfortable with the choice I made.”
Nobody laughed.
Not even a little.
My father, who usually brushed these comments off, looked like he didn’t know where to look. My cousin quietly reached for another helping of his barbecue.
Patricia muttered, “I was only joking.”
My mother nodded. “Then tell a better joke.”
For the rest of the meal, my aunt barely spoke.
When dinner ended, people were lining up in the kitchen asking my dad for the barbecue recipe while Patricia sat alone at the table with a full plate that had gone cold.