Chapter 6
Robert, Melissa’s father, had died four years earlier from a heart attack at sixty-eight.
He had been charismatic and funny, the type of man who could control a room within minutes.
He also had a sharp tongue.
His jokes often had a target.
Usually Diane.
Sometimes Daniel.
Occasionally Melissa.
Whenever anyone objected, Robert would grin and say they couldn’t take a joke.
Melissa stared at her mother.
“Dad was funny.”
“He could be.”
“He wasn’t cruel.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“That’s what you’re implying.”
Diane shook her head.
“I’m saying you learned something from him that I should have challenged years ago.”
Melissa looked away.
For the first time that evening, she seemed more exposed than angry.
“Your father could make everyone laugh,” Diane continued. “But sometimes he made one person feel small so everyone else could have a good time.”
“He loved you.”
“I know.”
“Then why are we talking about him like this?”
“Because loving someone doesn’t mean pretending every habit they had was good.”
Melissa’s eyes grew glassy.
Then Sophie climbed down from her chair and walked over.
“Mom?”
Melissa looked at her.
“Are you crying?”
“No.”
“You look like you’re crying.”
“I’m not.”
Sophie hugged her anyway.
Melissa stayed rigid for a moment, then wrapped her arms around her daughter.
The tension softened.
I didn’t suddenly forget everything Melissa had said to me.
But I understood the pattern more clearly.
She had grown up in a family where affection and ridicule often shared the same sentence.
She had learned that being funny meant striking first.
May you like
That didn’t erase the damage.
It explained where the habit came from.
