He studies my face for a moment, then leans closer. “You look like a man who misplaced his compass.”
“Perhaps I have,” I reply. Everything in my life points to Perry.
He nods once, satisfied with that answer.
My mother lifts the microphone. The room falls silent. And somewhere in this building, Perry is unraveling alone.
Mother stands at the center of the dance floor with the microphone held lightly in one hand, the other resting at her waist as though she has all the time in the world. The room quiets in degrees—first the outer tables, then the bar, then the lingering conversations near the terrace doors.
“Family,” she begins, voice smooth and unshaken, “is rarely simple.”
There is polite laughter.
She speaks first of Jason as a child, recounting small stories designed to humanize him—his obsession with lining up toy cars in perfect rows, his early insistence on symmetry in everything from homework margins to place settings. The guests smile. Faith presses her lips together in fond adoration.
Jason grins at the memory. He has always enjoyed being the center of attention.
My mother shifts seamlessly to Faith, praising her poise, her grace, her ability to “bring refinement into any room she enters.”
Faith’s eyes shine.
I listen without listening. My focus keeps drifting toward the edges of the room, toward doorways and corridors, toward the hope of pale coral fabric moving somewhere in my peripheral vision.
I don’t see her.
“…marriage,” my mother continues, “is an exercise in trust.”
Trust. The syllable lingers in the air just long enough to feel deliberate. Knowing her, it is.
My mother’s gaze sweeps the room. Not searching. Selecting. It brushes over Amber, who sits poised beside Meron. Amber’s expression is serene, hands folded in her lap, chin slightly elevated. Meron’s posture is stiff. He stares straight ahead, jaw tight, as though bracing for impact.
My mother’s voice remains warm, but something beneath it sharpens. “It is not comfort that sustains a family. It is honesty.”
The room stills further. A few guests exchange glances.
Amber inclines her head slightly, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. She knows she has already won, after making our son’s wedding into a game.
A game I refuse to play.
Mother continues, her tone measured and calm. “And honesty requires courage. It requires people who are willing to stand by the truth, even when that truth is inconvenient.”
My pulse remains steady. I don’t react. I will not give Amber that. But I feel the weight of my mother’s attention settling on me, even as she doesn’t look at me directly.
“I am grateful,” she says, lifting her glass slightly, “for those in this family who do not allow rumor to define us.”
A murmur ripples across the tables. Amber’s smile tightens. Meron shifts in his chair.
I catch fragments of whispers from behind me. “Hospital…” “Fired…” My name floats faintly in the undercurrent.
I do not acknowledge it.
My mother finally turns her head fully toward me. The look is not gentle. It’s the kind of look that says,You have created unnecessary spectacle. She does not say it aloud. She does not need to. I read her loud and clear.
She continues, “And sometimes, misunderstandings must be corrected swiftly, before they calcify into something less beneficial. Isn’t that right, Meron?”
Meron’s face flushes faintly. “I’m not sure?—”
“Of course you are,” she says smoothly. “No one wants a misunderstanding to be the end of a good working relationship. For a hypothetical example, if something like embezzlement came to light, one would hope it was a simple accounting misunderstanding, not actually stealing from my family’s foundation. Wouldn’t you agree?”
