Kyle raised his glass. My beautiful daughter, Madison. She’s been taking such good care of Grandma lately.
Madison blew a kiss to Eleanor. And of course, my husband, Richard, the backbone of this family. Richard nodded stiffly.
That was it. Three children introduced, the full roster according to Diane. A woman across the table I didn’t recognize, maybe someone from Richard’s work, leaned forward.
And who’s this lovely young lady beside Eleanor? Diane blinked, then smiled. Oh, that’s Annabelle.
She grew up around us.
Part 2
She grew up around us, like a stray cat fed on the porch. The woman nodded politely. The moment passed.
Then Madison reached across me for the bread basket. Her elbow caught my wine glass, red wine straight down the front of my navy dress. Oops.
Madison pressed her napkin to her lips. Sorry, white would have been a safer choice for you. A few people chuckled.
Kyle smirked into his water glass. I looked down at the stain spreading across my lap, dark red, blooming like a bruise. I didn’t react.
I picked up my napkin, dabbed the fabric twice, and set it back on my knee. Eleanor’s hand found mine under the table. She squeezed once. I squeezed back.
The main course arrived. Filet mignon, roasted asparagus, truffle mashed potatoes. The smell alone was worth more than my weekly grocery budget.
That’s when Diane made her move. We need to rearrange a bit, she announced. Uncle Harold needs more room for his chair.
Annabelle, sweetie, the bar has some lovely seats. You’d be more comfortable there. It wasn’t a question.
Kyle leaned back. Yeah, it’s not like you’re giving a toast. A few people at the far end of the table exchanged glances.
One or two laughed. Not cruelly, just the automatic laugh people give when they don’t want to make things awkward. No one objected.
I looked at Richard. He was staring at his plate like it held the answer to something. His fork hadn’t moved.
I looked at Eleanor. Her jaw was tight. Her knuckles were white around her napkin, but she met my eyes and gave me the smallest nod.
Barely a tilt of her chin. Wait, not yet. So I stood up, smoothed my wine-stained dress, picked up my water glass.
Happy birthday, Grandma, I said. My voice didn’t crack. I walked to the bar at the far end of the dining room.
12 steps. I counted. Sat on a stool, set my glass down, and kept my back straight.
The bartender, a young guy, maybe 22, looked at me with something between confusion and sympathy. You okay? he asked quietly.
I’m fine. I wasn’t, but I’d had 24 years of practice at being fine. Have you ever sat in a room full of people and felt completely invisible?
Like the air you breathe doesn’t count because no one’s watching you breathe it? If you have, tell me in the comments. I want to know I’m not the only one.
From the bar, I had a clear view of the table. Diane was laughing, refilling glasses, touching people’s arms. The perfect hostess.
Kyle was telling a story that involved hand gestures and a punch line I couldn’t hear. Madison kept checking her phone under the table. Eleanor sat at the head, eating nothing, watching everything.
The man in the gray suit hadn’t moved. His briefcase stayed under his chair. He cut his steak in precise squares and spoke to no one.
20 minutes passed. Then Madison stood, phone in hand, and walked toward the restroom. She passed right by me, didn’t even glance in my direction, like the bar stool was empty.
She stopped in the hallway, maybe six feet from me. She must have assumed I couldn’t hear over the jazz quartet. She was wrong.
It’s working, Madison said into the phone. Her voice was low, but the hallway carried sound like a tunnel. She’s at the bar.
Mom says one more push and she’ll leave for good. Pause. She listened.
No, Grandma doesn’t suspect anything. Mom’s handling it. We just need her out of the picture before Grandma’s lawyer does anything.
My hand tightened around my glass. Lawyer. Before Grandma’s lawyer does anything.
Madison laughed at something the other person said, then walked back toward the dining room without looking at me. I sat very still.
This wasn’t spontaneous cruelty. This wasn’t Diane having a bad night or a few too many glasses of wine. This was a plan, coordinated, timed, designed to push me out the door before something happened.
Something involving Eleanor and a lawyer. I didn’t know what yet, but the man in the gray suit with the briefcase suddenly made a lot more sense.
Dessert came. A three-tier cake with white frosting and 80 candles. Everyone sang.
From the bar, I mouthed the words. Eleanor blew out the candles in two breaths. The room cheered.
Then she leaned toward Richard and said something I couldn’t hear. Richard stood, helped her up, and walked her slowly toward the restroom hallway, but Eleanor stopped at the bar.