Chapter 5 - The Seat Beside Mine
On Friday evening, Nia found her father at the dining room table.
He had spread several papers in front of him.
A repair estimate for Brielle's handbag.
Information from the attorney.
His work schedule.
And the cream-colored graduation invitation.
Andre looked up when she entered.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Nia sat opposite him.
“Are they coming tomorrow?”
Andre knew immediately whom she meant.
“Patrice and Brielle?”
She nodded.
“I haven't invited them.”
“They said they were coming.”
Andre put down his pen.
“Did you want them there?”
Nia hesitated.
A familiar instinct urged her to say she didn't mind.
It was the answer she had learned to give whenever the alternative might cause an argument.
Instead, she said, “No.”
Andre waited.
“I don't want another fight. I don't want everyone staring. And I don't want somebody making me smile in a photograph so we can pretend nothing happened.”
Andre nodded.
“Then we won't do that.”
Nia looked at him.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
She studied his face, searching for the disappointment she had come to expect.
It wasn't there.
“I used to think you wanted me and Patrice to get along so badly that it didn't matter whether I was happy.”
Andre rubbed his forehead.
“I wanted us to feel like a family again.”
“After Mom?”
He nodded.
Nia's mother had died when she was eleven.
For years afterward, Andre had tried to make their small home feel normal.
He cooked breakfast on Sundays, attended school events when his shifts allowed, and learned how to braid Nia's hair from videos before finally admitting that he needed professional help.
When Patrice came into their lives, Andre believed that adding people to their family would make it stronger.
He hadn't understood that family required something more than living under the same roof.
“I think I was afraid of failing at marriage again,” he said quietly.
Nia looked down.
“So you let me fail at being comfortable in my own house.”
Andre accepted the words without defending himself.
“Yes.”
Nia hadn't expected him to agree.
“I don't want you to hate Patrice because of me,” she said.
“I don't hate her.”
“Or Brielle.”
“I'm angry with both of them. That doesn't mean I'm going to spend the rest of my life punishing them.”
He paused.
“But I won't ask you to live with that behavior again. What happens with my marriage is my responsibility.”
Nia nodded slowly.
For the first time, she felt the difference between being defended and being protected.
Defending her had taken one impulsive moment.
Protecting her would require Andre to make difficult choices long after his anger faded.
Later that evening, Patrice called again.
Andre stepped onto the porch.
Nia remained inside, but she could hear his side of the conversation through the partly open window.
“No, Patrice. Nia doesn't want a family photograph.”
A pause.
“I'm not making her apologize.”
Another pause.
“I'll take responsibility for the handbag. That doesn't mean she's responsible for fixing this marriage.”
His voice became firmer.
“If we have a future together, it can't depend on Nia pretending she's comfortable with what happened.”
The call ended.
Andre remained on the porch for several minutes.
Inside, Nia opened the tissue paper Mrs. Landry had given her.
The little strip of pink satin lay inside.
She touched it gently.
Then she found her mother's old sewing tin at the back of a desk drawer.
Most of the needles were still arranged in the same small paper packet.
Nia wasn't especially good at sewing.
Her mother had managed to teach her a few basic stitches before she died.
That night, Nia used those stitches to attach the pink strip to the inside seam of her blue dress.
It was uneven.
Nobody would see it.
But when she finished, she held the gown up and smiled.
The old dress couldn't be repaired.
That didn't mean every part of it had to disappear.
Saturday afternoon arrived bright and warm.
Andre wore a charcoal suit and a burgundy tie.
Nia came downstairs in her midnight-blue gown.
He stood up from the couch.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then his eyes filled.
“Baby girl.”
Nia laughed nervously.
“What?”
“You look beautiful.”
She looked toward the floor.
“Thank you, Dad.”
He held out his arm.
“Ready?”
Nia took it.
They drove to the graduation venue together.
The school had reserved a banquet hall for the senior class and their invited guests.
Students were taking pictures outside.
Parents carried flowers.
Music drifted through the entrance.
For a moment, Nia felt exactly as she had imagined feeling when she first bought her pink dress.
Excited.
Nervous.
Ready to celebrate.
Then she saw two familiar figures near the front doors.
Patrice wore a cream-colored dress.
Brielle stood beside her, holding her damaged handbag against her hip.
Patrice spotted them and immediately stepped forward.
She lifted her phone.
“There you are! Come on, everyone. Let's take one nice family picture before we go inside.”
Nia stopped walking.
May you like
Andre felt her hand tighten around his arm.
This time, he understood what she needed without waiting for her to explain.
