“Unless we’ve both been cast out of our families and we decide to elope to Vegas instead,” Amanda quips.
Then cringes.
I get the cringe. Feels like we might be cast out tonight. Or we might cast ourselves out.
Even if the Vegas plan is highly unlikely.
“Exactly that,” I agree before she can correct herself.
It takes too long to find our seats, and when I do, irritation claws at my chest all over again.
We’re at the far back table.
Our place cards sayDaneandAmnada.
Spelled exactly like that.
Our tablemates are the local pest control guy and his wife, my high school nemesis and his new wife, and the mayor and her husband.
Being seated with the mayor is only offensive if you know that my grandparents have voted for her opponent at every election for the past twelve years, since Vicki Anderson always endorses her. And being seated with my high school nemesis is one more sign that we might fail.
That my grandparents are too stubborn to give up the feud, even for the sake of my happiness.
That hurts.
That fucking hurts.
Our very awkward dinner is wrapping up when Uncle Rob stands at the head table and clinks a spoon against his glass. “If I could have everyone’s attention, please. I’d like to propose a toast to my parents.”
Amanda and I have to scoot our chairs around to get a good view, as we’ve been placed with our backs to the head table.
I can’t see my dad. Can’t see Lorelei or Esme.
I can hardly see my grandparents, as the raised platform for their table is barely raised, and everyone in front of us is craning to see too.
The people who aren’t looking back at Amanda and me, that is.
Have they been staring all through dinner?
I wouldn’t have noticed.
My back was to the rest of the party.
“First, we want to thank you all for being here to celebrate Mom and Pops,” Uncle Rob starts. “It means so much to them to see the appreciation the whole town has for the contributions they’ve made to Tinsel all of these years.”
There’s a smattering of applause.
Amanda claps with them. Not too loud, not too soft. Just fitting in.
Whereas I’m starting to sweat.
People are looking at us.
A lot of people. Not just a few. A lot.
We’re at the back of the room. No one should be looking at us.
But they are.
