jazz musicians stopped playing.
Mom whispered, “Mason.”
Not because what he said had hurt me.
Because he had finally said the part they normally kept quiet.
The venue manager placed the invoice on the gift table.
“We need a card.”
Ryan pulled out his wallet.
Then he saw the total.
His hand stopped.
Mason muttered something under his breath.
Several cousins suddenly found urgent reasons to look at their phones.
Mom’s carefully controlled smile began to crack.
“Clara, pay it and we’ll discuss this later.”
“No,” I said. “We have
