Chapter 2

Maura had barely finished speaking when her parents came out of their bedroom, already dressed.

They'd clearly heard everything the two of us had just said. The moment her mother opened the door, she fixed me with a heavy, lecturing tone.

"George, you're the one in the wrong here."

"My daughter works hard all month, and she treats the relatives to a meal with the money she earns. What's wrong with that?"

"This is something that brings honor to our whole family. How can you be so petty, counting every last dollar over a thing like this?"

I felt a bone-deep weariness.

"Mom, Maura's part of this family too. All I asked was for her to think about the household a little. How does that turn into me scheming after her money?"

"And that money wouldn't even be for me."

"Dad's heart condition needs long-term medication to keep it stable. That imported drug runs over six hundred dollars a box. Your insulin's run out too. If she keeps refusing to put anything toward the house, I won't even be able to afford your medicine."

Her mother waved a hand, impatient.

"Enough, enough. We know our own bodies. We two old folks can manage."

"You're using us as an excuse. Really you just want to help yourself to Maura's money so you can slack off, isn't that it?"

Her father let out a cold snort, his voice full of contempt.

"Exactly. I've never met anyone as cheap as you."

"All these years, Maura's dinners have made our whole family the envy of every relative. Show me one of them who doesn't praise how generous she is."

"Show me one who meets you and doesn't say you married a fine wife."

"A thing this glorious, and you can't even take pride in it. Instead you want to scheme after Maura's money and drag down her reputation. How can you be so selfish?"

I looked at their righteous, self-assured faces.

Then I looked at Maura, basking in their support, wearing that smug, vindicated look.

And my chest just felt clogged, tight with panic.

All these years, every dollar of Maura's monthly salary went to the dinner table.

Today the relatives.

Tomorrow her girlfriends.

The day after, her coworkers.

On holidays it was several full tables at once, the food, the cigarettes, the liquor all top of the line.

She was drunk on everyone's praise, on the feeling of being propped up and called "Ms. Pruitt" by all of them.

She called it honor. A woman's face. The whole point of her struggle.

But behind all that glory, I was the one covering the gaps, absorbing the pressure.

For this family, I'd worn myself down to a beast of burden.

On top of running myself ragged working and earning money, I still had to carve out time to take her parents to the hospital, register them, get them through their tests, pick up their medicine.

More often than not I spent my lunch breaks at the office ferrying them around the hospital.

What I wanted was a harmonious home.

What I prayed for was the old folks' health.

And in the end, I was the one who gave everything to this family, only to become, in all their mouths, the selfish, small-minded miser who couldn't see the bigger picture.