It’s fine, I suppose. Just stay in the background. Today is about your father and me.
I nodded. I always nodded.
Guests began arriving at 7. The men in sports coats, the women in cocktail dresses, old colleagues, church friends, neighbors whose lawns were as immaculate as ours. 30 people who thought they knew the Dixon family. None of them knew me at all. And in 3 hours, that wouldn’t matter anymore.
Megan arrived at 7:15, perfectly timed for maximum impact. She swept through the front door in a red wrap dress, Diane vonfenberg she’d announced to anyone who asked, with Derek behind her in a charcoal suit and their two children dressed like catalog models.
My mother rushed to embrace her, exclaiming over how beautiful she looked, how handsome Derek was, how precious the grandchildren were. I watched from the kitchen doorway holding a tray of brusqueta.
“Everyone, you remember my daughter Megan and her husband Derek?”
My mother announced to the room.
“Derek’s a partner at Whitmore and Associates. They just made him partner last year. We’re so proud. Applause, smiles, congratulations.”
My mother never mentioned that I was the one who’d done Dererick’s taxes for 3 years, free of charge, naturally.
I circulated with appetizers, refilled wine glasses, answered questions from guests who didn’t recognize me.
“Are you with the catering company?”
For Complete Cooking STEPS Please Head On Over To Next Page Or Open button (>) and don’t forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
