Chapter 2 - Carried Past the White Roses
I didn't walk into that bright room. Dad carried me.
His arm was tight under my knees and my cheek bumped his shoulder with every step. I still had the plastic bag in one hand and the bitten roll in the other. I wouldn't let go. The bag crinkled loud by his ear and I tried to hold it still so it wouldn't make noise.
The hallway behind us was cold and white. The ballroom was not. It was gold everywhere. Lights hung down in big bunches and made spots swim in my eyes. It smelled like flowers and warm sugar and ladies' perfume. Music was playing low, the kind grown-ups talk over.
"Hold on to me," Dad said, quiet, right against my hair.
I locked my arms around his neck. My shoes knocked his suit jacket. I could feel his tie pressed under my wrist.
People turned to look. That was the worst part. A lady in a black dress stopped smiling with her mouth half open. A man with a shiny bald head stepped back quick so Dad wouldn't bump him. I heard a fork hit a plate. Somebody whispered, but I couldn't hear the words over the music.
Dad didn't stop. He kept going straight through the crowd. My bag swung and the rolls thumped together inside the plastic.
Then I saw the cake.
It was taller than me, three layers white on white, with roses that looked real sitting on each edge. It sat on a round table with a white cloth all the way to the floor. The gold light made the frosting glow. A little card stood next to it. I stared at it because I didn't want to stare at all the eyes on me.
Dad slowed down by that table. My stomach felt sick from the sweet smell.
She was right there by the cake.
Grandmother stood with her shoulders back, holding a tall glass of bubbly gold drink. Her purple dress shined under the lights. Her gray hair was twisted up neat and her pearls sat perfect on her neck. She was smiling for the people near her until she saw us. Her smile didn't fall all at once. It just froze.
Her eyes went first to Dad's face, then down to me, then to my pink shirt with the stain on the front, then to the plastic bag and the roll in my hand.
I tucked the roll closer to my chest. Crumbs fell on Dad's suit and I felt bad, but I didn't drop it.
The music kept playing. Somebody laughed behind us too loud and then stopped.
Dad stopped two steps from her. I could feel his chest go up and down fast under me. His beard scratched my forehead when he turned his head to look at her straight.
The people around the cake went quiet. The lady with the drink in her hand looked from Grandmother to Dad like she was waiting for somebody to say it was a joke.
May you like
Dad's voice was low, but I felt it more than heard it.
"Mother, we need to talk."
