“This year, we’re only having dinner with my wife’s family,” my son told me. I simply replied, “perfect.”

She was right.

I silenced my phone.

During dessert, another message came from Carla.

Why did you never tell us you had money?

I stared at it.

Not why didn’t you trust us?

Not did we hurt you?

Why didn’t you tell us you had money?

I turned the phone facedown.

At eleven-thirty, Carla’s sister’s number called.

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“Hello?”

“Grandma?”

“Gabriel?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you using Aunt Sofia’s phone?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“I saw the picture.”

“Did you?”

“Is that your house?”

“Yes.”

“Dad is mad.”

“And Mom is crying.”

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“I’m sorry you’re around that.”

“They said you lied.”

“I never lied.”

“Didn’t you come because you’re mad at me?”

My voice nearly broke.

“Gabriel, listen to me. Never. You did nothing wrong.”

“I wanted you at dinner.”

“I know.”

“Can I come tomorrow?”

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