"Hi, honey!" Mom's voice is bright, cheerful, too light for the weight pressing behind my ribs. "You out of your appointment?"
"Yes," I say, and the word sounds flat even to me.
There's a pause, then she asks, "How'd it go?"
"Fine." I don't hesitate. Lying is easier when I don't decorate it.
"Well, good. I'm glad." She plows forward like she always does when she senses resistance. "I almost forgot until your dad reminded me that tonight's the grand opening for Demi."
I close my eyes briefly, pressing my lips together. I had forgotten about Uncle Obrecht and Aunt Selena's event. And the idea of smiling through another evening makes my stomach twist. I fib, "I remembered."
"We'll pick you up," she adds, casual like it isn't a decision she's already made.
My eyes snap open. "I can meet you there."
"No, we'll get you. Your father already left work early, and it'll be nice to go together."
"I really don't feel?—"
"Your father won't take no for an answer," she says gently, which somehow makes it worse. "We'll pick you up at 6:30."
The call ends before I can argue, and I stare at my phone like it betrayed me. Then I glance back at the building behind me, at the anonymous windows hiding Red in his office somewhere above. The urge to turn around and march back in there, demanding something I can't even name, burns sharp and hot.
Don't.
I force myself to hurry home, slip on a cocktail dress I made weeks ago for tonight, and pace my apartment.
My phone vibrates.
Mom: We're here.
Dread fills me. I grab my evening bag, slip a wrap around my shoulders, and head out of my building.
A black SUV sits on the curb. My father jumps out the moment I exit the rotating glass. He grins, steps forward, and tugs me into his arms. "My gorgeous daughter. You look beautiful."
Something in me snaps. I sink into his broad shoulders, hugging him harder than normal, and blink away tears that take me by surprise.
He keeps me pinned against him, teasing, "It's about time I got a good hug."
"Ha, ha." I force myself to smile, retreat from his affection, and slide into the back seat.
"Hey, sweetie. You look great," Mom chirps.
"Thanks. So do you," I reply.
Dad scoots next to me and shuts the door. The car veers into the street.
"You okay, kiddo?" Dad asks, assessing me.
"Fine as always," I reply.
My mom studies me just as intently, her gaze sweeping over my face like she's cataloging micro-cracks. "You look tired."
"I am," I admit, suddenly feeling exhausted.
"We don't have to stay past dinner," she offers.
I shrug. "We can play it by ear."
