I stared at her.
“You mean I’m not joining you?”
She sighed.
“Please don’t make this awkward. My parents traveled a long way, and I wanted a nice family dinner.”
A family dinner.
Apparently, I wasn’t considered part of that family.
I glanced toward Owen.
He stood near the hallway, holding his phone.
He didn’t defend me.
He didn’t offer another chair.
He didn’t even meet my eyes.
I could have argued.
I could have reminded Christa that I’d purchased the ham, spent hours preparing it, and driven forty minutes to serve it.
But I suddenly felt too tired to explain why I deserved a place at the table.
“I see,” I replied.
I picked up the roasting pan.
Christa frowned.
“Dorothy, what are you doing?”
“Taking my dinner home.”
Then I walked outside.
I placed the ham carefully on the passenger seat of my Honda Civic.
