Jason stared at Aunt Clara's phone.
For a moment, I thought he might laugh.
That was usually what he did when someone challenged him. He acted as though the other person had misunderstood a joke.
But Aunt Clara wasn't joking.
"You're serious?" he asked.
"Completely."
My mother pushed her chair back.
"Clara, this is a private family matter."
Aunt Clara turned toward her.
"Then why did you make a decision about Emily's property without asking Emily?"
My mother opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I sat with my hands folded in my lap, watching the candle beside the centerpiece flicker whenever someone moved.
I had imagined this conversation dozens of times.
In every version, I defended myself.
I explained the spare key, the messages, the empty parking space, and the money I'd spent getting to work.
Now that someone else was asking the questions, I couldn't seem to say anything.
Jason finally reached for his phone.
"I'll call someone," he muttered.
"Call whoever you need to call," Aunt Clara replied. "The car needs to be here within thirty minutes."
My father set down his knife.
"This is getting out of hand."
"No," Clara said. "It got out of hand when you decided Emily's answer didn't matter."
My father looked at me.
I knew that look.
It was the one he used when he wanted me to rescue him from an uncomfortable conversation.
Usually, I did.
I would soften my words, apologize for my tone, or suggest that everyone take a break.
I would find some way to make the situation easier for the people who had hurt me.
This time, I looked back at him without speaking.
He turned away first.
Jason stood and walked toward the hallway with his phone pressed to his ear.
I couldn't hear everything he said.
I caught a few words about the car and a demand that someone get moving.
Then he lowered his voice.
He sounded less confident than he had when he'd arrived.
My mother watched him leave.
"This is humiliating," she whispered.
I looked at her.
She wasn't looking at me.
She was staring at the doorway, worried about what the family might think.
I wondered whether she had considered my embarrassment when she let Jason take my crossover.
Had she thought about me walking through the hospital parking lot?
Had she pictured me calling rides because my own car was sitting with my brother?
Or had she simply assumed I would find a way to manage, as I always had?
Aunt Clara reached for her glass.
"Emily, have you been getting to work without the car?"
I nodded.
"Mostly."
"How?"
"Buses. Rides when I have to."
She looked at me for a moment.
"That must have been difficult."
The ordinary kindness of the question nearly broke me.
I shrugged because I didn't know what else to do.
"It's been expensive."
My mother made a small sound.
"She makes it sound as though we've left her stranded."
Aunt Clara put down her glass.
"Hasn't she been stranded?"
My mother stared at her.
"Jason needed help."
"And Emily didn't?"
The question sat between them.
Nobody answered.
I looked down at my hands.
I could feel tears gathering again, and I hated that I couldn't control them.
Aunt Clara noticed.
She didn't tell me to stop crying.
She didn't tell me to be strong.
She simply reached across the table and touched my wrist.
That small gesture made me feel less alone than I had in weeks.
Jason returned to the dining room.
"He's on his way," he said.
Aunt Clara checked the time.
"Good."
Jason remained standing.
"Can we please stop acting like I committed some terrible crime? I had a transportation problem."
"You had a problem," I said.
My voice sounded quieter than I expected.
"That didn't give you the right to take my car."
He looked at me sharply.
"I was going to bring it back."
"When?"
He didn't answer.
"How long was I supposed to wait?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"I don't know, Emily. I had things to sort out."
"So did I."
My brother looked away.
I had never seen him struggle so much to answer a simple question.
My mother stepped in again.
"He's under pressure. You know how things have been for him."
I nodded.
"I do know."
I knew about the failed businesses.
I knew about the debts.
I knew that my parents worried about him and that they believed every setback deserved another chance.
What I didn't understand was why his troubles always became my responsibility.
"I've never said Jason doesn't need help," I continued. "I've said he can't take something that belongs to me without asking."
My father shifted in his chair.
"Nobody is saying your feelings don't matter."
I looked at him.
"You told me to stop being selfish."
He pressed his lips together.
For once, he didn't have an answer ready.
Aunt Clara sat back.
"Let's get the car returned first. Then we'll talk."
The next several minutes passed slowly.
Someone in the kitchen turned on the faucet.
A chair scraped across the floor.
My cousin quietly collected a few empty plates, then stopped when Aunt Clara asked her to leave them.
Nobody seemed hungry anymore.
I watched the clock on the wall.
The second hand moved steadily.
I thought about how long thirty minutes could feel when you were waiting for something you had no control over.
I had spent days waiting for Jason to do the right thing.
I had spent days hoping my mother would change her mind.
Now, for the first time, there was a clear expectation and a time attached to it.
Jason checked his phone.
Aunt Clara checked the clock.
My mother checked my face.
I could almost hear the apology she wanted me to offer.
I didn't give it.
When the doorbell finally rang, everyone turned toward the hallway.
Jason hurried out of the room.
I heard the front door open, followed by a man's voice I didn't recognize.
There was a brief exchange.
Then the door shut.
Jason came back inside.
"The car's here."
Aunt Clara nodded.
"Then let's go see it."
I stood.
My legs felt unsteady, but I followed the others through the hallway and out the front door.
The silver crossover sat near the curb.
For a second, I couldn't move.
It looked exactly as it had the last time I saw it.
The same silver paint.
The same shape of the headlights.
The same small mark near the rear bumper that I'd noticed when Aunt Clara first gave it to me.
I had missed it more than I wanted to admit.
Jason held out the keys.
He didn't look at me.
I took them.
The metal was cool in my palm.
I pressed the button on the fob, and the lights flashed.
A small, familiar sound.
I opened the driver's door and checked the inside.
My seat was set farther back than I kept it.
There were a few crumbs near the passenger seat and a receipt tucked into the console.
Nothing seemed seriously damaged.
Still, I looked over everything carefully.
I had learned that being related to someone didn't mean I could trust them to respect what belonged to me.
Jason stood beside the car.
"There. Happy?"
I turned toward him.
"No," I said. "I'm relieved to have my car back."
He looked offended by the distinction.
I didn't correct him further.
Aunt Clara watched from the walkway.
"Emily, do you have both keys?"
I checked the key ring in my hand.
I had the key Jason had been using.
My original key was still with me.
"Yes."
"Good. Let's go inside."
I locked the car and followed her back into the house.
For the first time in days, I wasn't calculating how I would get to work.
I wasn't wondering whether my brother would answer my messages.
I wasn't waiting for my mother to decide my needs were worth considering.
I had my keys.
But as I stepped through the front door, Aunt Clara glanced at my parents.
"Now," she said, "we need to discuss the rest of this."
And I understood that getting the crossover back had not ended the evening.
It had only removed the easiest excuse.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: My Aunt Asked What Else I Had Given Up for Jason, and the Answers Were Harder to Say Than I Expected
The Empty Space in My Driveway Was Easier to Explain Than What My Family Had Done to Me
Part 5 of 16
