They had spent thousands on this dinner. Tables of crystal, imported wine, a guest list that included every power player in the city.
The morning of the dinner, I stood in front of the mirror. The bruising on my face had faded to a sickly yellow, and I had opted not to get a temporary tooth yet. I wanted the gap to be visible.
I put on a black dress. Simple. Sharp. Elegant.
Downstairs, the house was a whirlwind of panic and perfume.
“You’re not invited,” my mom said as she adjusted her pearls, not even turning to look at me.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I replied, my voice smooth.
My dad adjusted his tie, his face flushed with stress and excitement. “Don’t you dare show up and embarrass us. Stay here. Clean the kitchen.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
They left in a flurry of self-importance. Melissa took an Uber to her party, blowing kisses to her reflection in the hallway mirror. My parents took the Mercedes—the one they hadn’t made a payment on in three months.
