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I raise one brow and look down at the emerald dress I chose for tonight. With a tight bodice that enhances my curves and a flowy skirt, it’s really quite comfortable. Green and gold gemstones dot the bone lining of the bodice, and two sheer straps caress my shoulders. I even dyed the streak in my hair green to match.
“What’s wrong with it? I thought I looked good.”
“You look like a piece of hard candy,” Mom snaps, immediately forever ruining the dress for me.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I’m just looking out for you.” Folding my jacket over one arm, she waves her other hand near my face. “Now, go say hi to everyone and find your father.”
“Alright.” I’m happy to be away from her; so I do just that. In my hard candy dress, I wander on black heels while clutching the present and greet everyone that I bump into. Most are faces I distantly recognize from business dinners held at the house when I still lived there or photos from other social events my parents attended. Friends from work, old friends from my father’s life before me, and even a few neighbors are all here to wish him a happy birthday. It’s an impressive turnout, although I doubt these people see the strict side of my father that I’m always exposed to.
Ten minutes later, I find my father by the bar, nursing a drink and toying with the lemon wedge.
“Dad.”
“Berry.” The nickname makes my spine jump slightly. “I wasn’t sure when you would be getting here.”
“I had some issues with your present.”
“Oh?” One bushy brow lifts and he sets his drink down.
“Nothing serious, don’t worry.” I smile and hand over the present, watching his face closely as he opens the bag and pulls out the expensive bottle of malt that he adores so much.
“Your mother will have a fit if she sees this,” he chuckles, causing his mustache to tremble slightly on his upper lip.
“I won’t tell her if you don’t,” I tease.
“Thank you, Berry, this is very kind.” The bottle slides back into the bag and he sets it on the bar, then he leans in and presses a whiskey kiss to my cheek.
“You’re welcome.” Leaning against the bar, I catch the bartender’s attention and order a Coke. “There’s so many people here. Are you having a good time?”
“Oh, yes.” Dad nods. “When you get to my age, Berry, it is easy to forget just how many people are in your circle. You appreciate things like this a lot more.”
“I’m glad all your friends could come.”
“Me too. There are even some of my old college buddies here that managed to make the trip. Imagine all of that for me.” He chuckles again and there’s a distant wistfulness in his eyes. His mind is clearly running to memories I can’t share. Reliving moments and comments with people he holds dear.
My heart warms a little. When we disagree, it’s easy to forget that he lived a lifetime before me.
“Emma.” Once again, my mother melts out of the crowd and lightly touches my elbow. “Could you pop into the kitchen and check on the cake?”
“Aren’t there hired people here to do that?” The last thing I want to do is appear overbearing to any staff simply trying to do their job.
“And I don’t trust them so can you go and check on it, please?”
“If you don’t trust them, why did you hire them?”
“Emma.” My mother’s sigh grates on my ears. “Just go.”
Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I do just that. Leaving my untouched drink forlornly on the bar, I head through the crowd toward the kitchen. Knocking lightly, no one answers so I push past the swinging door and peek inside.
Empty.
Dad’s cake sits on a trolley dotted with candles displaying his age. From the sweet smell, it’s definitely a fruit cake smothered in vanilla icing.
It’s much quieter here and cooler, too. I hadn’t fully registered how warm the hall was until the cooler kitchen air stroked my bare skin, inviting me to stay. Seeking my phone from my purse, I snap a picture of the cake and send it to my mother, along with a message telling her to come check on it herself if she has any doubts.
Then, my thumb leads me back to Instagram where more notifications have sprung up. There are a couple more horrible ones that I barely glance at, but there are multiple from Ana, who’s going out of her way to belittle the people behind those icon-less accounts. Just reading her defense makes me smile. I head to the group chat and send my love and thanks to her, keeping it vague so that Meghan will also see it.
