Chapter 4
Mom didn't want to go back in.
We stood just outside the ballroom doors where a server had left a tray of empty champagne glasses on a side table. The hallway was carpeted and quiet, and I could hear the muffled sound of someone testing the microphone inside. Mom had her clutch tucked under her arm and her hands clasped together so tight her knuckles went white. She stared at the closed doors.
"We have to see it through," I said. I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince.
She breathed out slowly and nodded once. "For your father," she whispered. Not for him like she was proud. For him like it was something we owed.
She pushed the door open and the warm air and the noise hit us again. The chandeliers were bright and the band had stopped playing. People were turning back toward the stage. Our table was near the back, and two empty chairs waited with our napkins folded exactly how we'd left them. Mom slid into hers and I sat beside her, my silver clutch in my lap. My blue dress felt too tight around my shoulders.
Dad was already moving toward the podium. He straightened his bow tie as he walked, and the light caught his tuxedo jacket. Vanessa stayed beside him in her champagne gown, one hand lightly on his arm. The pearls sat perfectly against her neck, two neat rows, catching the light every time she moved.
The foundation president introduced him. He said something about Dad's years of service and leadership and commitment, and people clapped. Dad stepped up to the wooden podium and tapped the microphone and smiled that smile he used for photos.
"Thank you," he said. His voice filled the whole room. "Thank you all for being here tonight. This foundation has meant so much to our family."
He looked out over the tables. I watched his eyes sweep from left to right. They skipped right over where Mom and I sat.
"I want to thank a few people," he said. "My colleagues, our donors, and most of all, Vanessa."
He turned and held out his hand to her. She stepped closer, smiling with her red lipstick, her wavy blonde hair tucked behind one ear so her pearl earring showed.
"Vanessa has brought such grace and support into this next chapter," Dad said. "I wanted to mark tonight in a special way. Some of you may notice the pearls she's wearing. They are a symbol of family to me. Of continuity. Of the family we're building together."
He gestured toward her neck, his palm open. Vanessa lifted her hand and touched the pearls with her fingertips, just resting them there. She didn't take them off. She pressed them gently against her skin like she was making sure everyone saw.
People applauded. A woman at the next table said "lovely" loud enough to hear. A man closer to the stage lifted his phone to take a picture. The clapping got louder and the projection screen behind Dad glowed blue with the foundation logo.
Mom didn't move. She kept her hands in her lap and her back straight. I saw her throat swallow and her eyes get shiny again, but she didn't wipe at them. She put on a small, steady smile, the kind she'd use when she didn't want me to worry. She clapped too, lightly, her teardrop earrings barely moving. Her breathing was slow and careful.
I couldn't clap. I watched Vanessa's hand stay on the pearls while Dad kept talking about future and commitment and generosity. He talked about giving back and new beginnings. He never looked at Mom. Every time his gaze came near our table, it slid away to the other side of the room. I felt my face get hot.
Vanessa kept touching the pearls. When she smiled, she tilted her chin down just a little so the light hit them. One of her fingers traced the top row.
Dad finished with another thank you and a line about being honored. The room stood and applauded. Mom stood too. I stood because she did. My clutch pressed hard against my palm.
Dad stepped back from the podium and put his arm around Vanessa's waist. They stayed on the stage together while people kept clapping and a photographer moved in close. Vanessa left her hand right where it was, on the necklace.
When the applause finally faded and people started to sit and talk again, Mom leaned toward me. Her voice was low and even.
May you like
"I'm going to speak to him," she said, her eyes still on the stage. "Not here. In the suite behind the stage. Privately."
She wasn't asking permission. She was telling me what she had decided to do.
