“Oh, they are,” Kelsey assures her. “One of them has an amazing brand deal for her social media. She could probably do something for you if I put a word in. It would help you attract a younger crowd.”
The server finishes plating the salads, saving Kelsey from a devastatingly polite but knife-sharp reply from my mother, which would probably have gone over her head. Eric doesn’t bother to look interested, and Dad stabs at his lettuce.
I’m drinking too fast, and the server tops me off again as we finish the salad, which is garlicky and delicious. Kelsey isn’t helping. She keeps making little digs at my mother, like mentioning how nice it is for the kids to spend time with GramGram, who is retired and hasplenty of energy to give to her little treasures. She mentions nothing to Dad about Gramps, who I believe spends a lot of time playing golf. My mother only nods and turns her attention to the scallops the server puts down in front of her. Dad scoops one off her plate and makes a face. “Overcooked,” he says, taking another. “You should have gotten the salmon.”
Then Kelsey starts talking about those damn gift bags again.
“My event was so successful,” she says for the third time. “I can’t believe all those women found love through my luxury gift bags. It just goes to show that the right curated items can give a woman the confidence she needs to go out there and find her man.” The silence at the table is emphasized by the hum of conversation surrounding us. “You know, Lucy, I should have kept back one of the bags for you. Everyone deserves love, and it looks like I’m the fairy godmother who made it happen for those girls.”
The stress of the day, travel, and wine all combine, and I’ve finally hit my limit. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kelsey gives a little laugh. “You’ll understand if you eventually get a boyfriend.”
It’s clear Kelsey thinks this is a wicked burn, but Mom’s the one to react. “Luling is perfectly happy. Not everyone needs a partner. Sometimes they’re more trouble than good.”
Dad puts his fork down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She looks at him. “Nothing. Why do you assume it’s about you?”
“I didn’t until now.”
Eric and I share a look across the table in a rare moment of sibling understanding. Then we both look down, knowing that to interfere will only prolong the fight.
Too bad Kelsey fancies herself a peacemaker. “Oh, let’s not ruin dinner. Everyone’s feelings are valid here—right, Dad?”
Eric’s eyes flicker and we share another look. She might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull, because if there’s one thingDad hates—one of many things, actually—it’s being told what to do. He also prides himself on acting calmly and rationally at all times, especially when he’s being both overdramatic and emotional. Like now.
The server comes by, and Kelsey glances at Dad before she says, “My father-in-law would like another scotch, thanks.”
I roll my eyes and Kelsey, unfortunately, catches me. “What’s that about?” she asks.
My defensive side kicks in. “Nothing.”
“Obviously it’s something,” she says through an afterthought of a smile.
“I’m not sure why you’re ordering for Dad.”
“Someone has to take care of this family,” she says.
That’s it. “First, we’re all adults who are perfectly capable of speaking to a server ourselves. Second, you don’t know anything about this family.” She’s not part of it—not really—and it bothers me that she’s acting like she belongs more than I do.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Eric gives me a look, and I back down so I don’t ruin Dad’s birthday. “Nothing.”
“Do you not consider me part of this family?” Her voice climbs higher with each word. “When I’ve been married to Eric for ten years and we have two children? Is that not enough to belong?”
Dad looks up from his meal. “People are looking.”
“I want to know,” insists Kelsey, lowering her voice slightly. The alcohol-induced slur is more noticeable. “Am I part of this family or am I not?”
“Of course you are,” I say, not wanting to cause a scene in a restaurant.
“Then what don’t I know?” She’s not letting up, and I look to Eric for support, but he’s staring at his plate.
“Nothing. Anyone want the last bit of salad?”
“You’re lying.”
