“What?”
“That nobody knows me.”
I turned toward her.
She continued before I could respond.
“Everyone knows Karen Mercer, Daniel’s mother. Michael’s wife. The woman who brings the pasta salad. The woman who remembers birthdays. The woman who sends thank-you cards.”
Her eyes stayed closed.
“But I kept trying to remember the last time anyone asked me what I wanted.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“Maybe they assumed you’d tell them.”
“Women like me aren’t supposed to need anything.”
“That sounds like something women like you tell themselves.”
Her eyes opened.
For a second, she just stared at me.
“Women like me?”
I realized how that sounded.
“I meant…”
“Yes?”
“Competent women.”
Her lips twitched.
“Good recovery.”
“Thank you.”
“I almost threw you out of the car.”
“My car.”
“Then I almost threw myself out.”
I laughed.
And finally, she did too.
A real laugh this time.
