And embroidered across one corner: BENJAMIN.
“I’ve told everyone already,” she said sweetly. “Carol ordered the little stuffed bear with his name on it. It’s done, honey. It’s all done.”
BENJAMIN.
She’d told everyone and personalized the gifts so refusing the name meant correcting forty people and returning what they’d bought.
She was betting we’d cave to avoid the embarrassment.
She held the blanket out to me, glowing.
I took it. I folded it once. And I handed it right back.
“We’ll return anything personalized,” I said. “And if you told everyone a name we’d already rejected, you can be the one to tell them you were wrong.”
She was betting we’d cave to avoid the embarrassment.
I lifted my chin.
“We’re not naming our son Benjamin to save you from embarrassment.”
The pressure hadn’t worked, so she switched tactics.
“How dare you.” Her voice cracked. “Benjamin worked himself to the bone for this family. He loved his son. He can’t defend himself.” She pressed the blanket to her chest. “Your father would be turning in his grave.”
“How dare you.”
A woman near the front murmured, “That would be such a lovely tribute.”
“Ben would’ve been so proud,” another said.
Women who’d looked embarrassed for Diane five minutes ago were nodding at her now. She’d flipped the whole thing.
