I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say. I’ve rehearsed it a few times in my head and it comes out different each time. Sometimes I’m calm and very clear. Sometimes I cry, which I don’t want to do.

Once I rehearsed it and I got so angry I had to go walk around the yard for a bit. I think the real version will be messy, the way these things always are when you’re talking to people you love about something that has genuinely hurt you. I think there will probably be some crying even if I try to avoid it. I think Renee will get defensive. I think David will be quiet.

I don’t know what happens after that. I really don’t. I’m not naive enough to think one dinner fixes this or explains it or makes it make sense. There’s something broken now that I don’t know how to name yet. Maybe it was already broken and I just couldn’t see it until a voicemail that wasn’t meant for me showed me exactly what was happening in my own kitchen.

The folder is still in the drawer. I haven’t moved it. Some days I think about calling Renee before Sunday, just getting it over with. Then I think about her voice on the phone saying simplifying your affairs, Mama, and I close my phone and go water my plants instead.

Sunday I’ll know more, I guess. And then I’ll figure out what to do with whatever I find out.