Adrian nodded.
He returned to the reception.
This time, he didn’t ask us to follow him.
We ate in the hotel’s small restaurant overlooking the courtyard.
Grandma ordered tomato soup.
Aunt Patricia had grilled salmon.
Rachel ordered a hamburger and spent most of the meal checking messages from her mother about the children.
I wasn’t hungry.
I ordered tea and a bowl of pasta, then managed only a few bites.
Our waiter, noticing Grandma’s difficulty standing, brought a cushion and helped adjust her chair.
She thanked him.
Then she asked for extra bread.
It was such an ordinary request that I almost cried.
Upstairs, my sister’s reception was continuing.
There were flowers and speeches and a photographer capturing moments she’d spent months planning.
Downstairs, four members of her family were eating dinner because she’d decided one of us didn’t belong at the family table.
I checked my phone.
A message from Vanessa.
You have completely embarrassed me. Everyone is asking where Grandma went.
I stared at it.
Then another arrived.
Adrian is furious, and his mother thinks I’m cruel.
I placed the phone facedown.
Aunt Patricia noticed.
“Vanessa?”
I nodded.
“Do you want to answer?”
“Not yet.”
Grandma tore a small piece from her bread roll.
“Then don’t.”
