Chapter 11 - She Stepped Into the Light Still Shivering
I saw her before anyone else did because I was looking for her.
Grandmother had her hand on my shoulder by the cake. Her fingers weren't squeezing, but they were heavy, like she wanted me to stay small and still. The white roses on the cake were right by my cheek. I could smell sugar and flowers. Then the side doors opened and the cold came in first.
Mom stood there.
Her hair was wet on the ends and stuck to her neck. Her cheeks were red from being outside, and her jacket was damp. She blinked when the warm golden light hit her face. She just stopped in the doorway and put her hand up a little, like the light was too bright after the dark parking lot. I knew that feeling. The hallway lights hurt my eyes too when Dad opened the door.
Dad was right next to her. His hand was on her back, not pushing, just there. He leaned down and said something I couldn't hear. Mom shook her head. She looked down at her shoes, then at all the people in dresses and suits. She pulled her jacket tighter over her shirt.
Don't let her change her mind, I thought. Please don't let her go back outside.
Grandmother's hand pressed harder on my shoulder. "Stay here," she whispered, smiling. Her champagne glass was up in her other hand. It caught the chandelier light.
I looked at Mom again. She was still by the door. A waiter walked past her with a tray, and two ladies turned and stared. I could see Mom thinking about leaving. Her eyes went back to the door behind her.
My chest got tight. My plastic bag crinkled when my hand squeezed it. The bitten roll was still in there, a little squished now. I didn't want to wait anymore.
I ducked.
I just bent down fast under Grandmother's arm and slipped out before she could grab me. My blue pants swished. One of my shoes squeaked on the shiny floor.
"— come back here," Grandmother said, low, but she couldn't yell because people were looking.
I ran.
I held the bread bag tight against my stomach so it wouldn't fall. The ballroom was so big and the tables had glasses that clinked when I bumped one. Someone said, "Oh!" Someone else moved their chair. I didn't stop. The chandeliers were all blurry above me because my eyes were watery.
Mom saw me coming.
Her face changed. She stepped forward away from Dad, away from the door, right into the middle of the light. She opened her arms.
I hit her so hard she stumbled back a step. She caught me and held on. She was cold. Her jacket was cold and smelled like outside air and car. But her hands on my back were warm. I pressed my face into her shoulder and I could feel her breathing fast.
"I got the bread," I whispered. "I didn't drop it."
"I know, baby," she said. Her voice shook. "You did good."
Dad came up behind us and put his arms around both of us. His suit jacket brushed my cheek. For a second it was just us three in a little circle while everyone watched. I could hear the music still playing but quieter, like the band didn't know if they should keep going.
People were staring. I saw them over Mom's shoulder. A man with a camera lowered it. A lady by the cake whispered to her husband. We walked forward together, slow, because Mom's legs were stiff from the cold. Dad kept his hand on her waist to steady her.
We passed the tables. We passed the white cake with the roses. I saw our reflection in the side of a gold punch bowl — Mom small and wet, Dad tall in black, me in pink holding white plastic.
Grandmother was still by the cake.
She had her smile on now, big and bright. She lifted her champagne flute a little higher, like she was toasting us. "There they are," she said loud enough for the people near her to hear. Her voice was sweet. Her eyes weren't.
May you like
Mom stopped a few feet away from her. She didn't let go of me. I held my bread up where everyone could see it because I wasn't going to hide it.
Mom looked at Grandmother and took a breath. Her hand was shaking in mine, but she didn't step back into the cold.
