“I’mfine,” Dylan said.
“Oh my god, Jack and Carrie,” a voice said.
Dylan looked up, recognized the woman standing at their table with her phone in her hands, coppery hair and too much eyeliner.
“Hey there,” Jack said jovially.
“Penny,” the woman said, sticking out her hand. “I write a small blog calledPenny for Your Thoughtshere in Clover Lake.”
“Oh, how adorable,” Carrie said.
“Thank you!” Penny said. “We’ve so enjoyed having Dylan in town. She’s very exciting and we just love her and Ramona together.”
“Yes,Ramona,” Carrie said. “Tell us more about her. Dylan is very mum about the whole thing.”
“Mother,” Dylan said, teeth clenched.
“I have some pictures here!” Penny said, swiping up on her phone.
“What?” Dylan said. “I don’t think that’s—”
“Lovely,” Carrie said, angling to see now, as though Dylan weren’t even there. As though she’d disappeared, nothing butJack and Carrie’s daughternow. Nameless and invisible, just some tiny girl falling asleep on an open box of half-eaten pizza.
“Goodness, our daughter is gorgeous, Jack,” Carrie said.
“She is that.”
“And this Ramona!” Carrie said, tilting her head and slipping on her reading glasses to look closer at Penny’s phone. “Not your usual type, but she’s really love—”
“That’s fucking enough!”
A yell.
A bit slurry, but still, the volume was there, the scratch in Dylan’s throat evidence that she’d said it out loud, not just in her head.
And this time, it was enough to make her parents stop.
“Dylan,” Carrie said. “You’re being very rude.”
“Oh,I’mbeing rude?” Dylan said, then stood up. The room spun, and then spun a little more. Dammit, she loved bubbles, but they did not love her. Ever. “I think you’ve got that backward, Mother.”
Carrie frowned, sent a confused look to Jack, a pause in their constant and dizzying combo of fawning all over Dylan and ignoring her completely. The silence was long enough for Dylan to realize just how silent it was—the entire restaurant quiet and staring at the family with interest, tinyholy shitsmiles on their faces, cameras out.
Always the fucking cameras.
“Goddammit,” Dylan said, just as loud. Her mouth felt dry, her head already ached. She pushed her chair back so she could dig herself out of the seat by the window she’d been stuffed into when they’d arrived. The chair felt extremely heavy, and she fumbled with it enough that she fell against the window, her shoulder pressing into the cool glass.
She cursed, then lifted the chair into the air and above her mother’s head as she stumbled-tripped around the table.
“Dylan!” Jack said sternly, standing up too.
The restaurant patrons gasped.
Phones were everywhere.
In the back of her fuzzy brain, Dylan knew this was all wrong,very wrong, so wrong she’d hate herself in about six hours’ time, if not before, but right now, it felt like the only thing she could do. She had to get out from behind the table, had to get out of this restaurant, and this was the only way to do it.
Simple as that.
