“Just because someone fathered a child doesn’t mean he’s dad material,” I say, too firmly, but I can’t stop myself.
“No one said that,” Eunice says. “But Serena and Tucker paid their dues and they’re happy. And he’s repented of his ways and is a good father.”
“Too bad he didn’t figure that out before he ran off and then broke up a wedding,” I mutter.
Both women turn from their plates and raise their eyes in pure shock. “Bless his heart,” I add, but it doesn’t help. They’re positively scandalized by my saying the quiet part out loud, as if they haven’t been dancing around it through the entire potluck line.
Pull yourself together! They already hate you—this isn’t helping!
When they pile desserts on their plate (because apparently you have to grab the banana pudding before Janice from the choir snags half the bowl), they swap looks and head to a table.
They don’t ask me to join them.
And I’m standing friendless and plateless in the Fellowship Hall just long enough to see Loretta wrap my egg in a napkin and throw it away before she returns to the line to grab two of Serena’s.
I escape outside and sit in the shade of a large magnolia tree, sipping ice water from my sleek matte tumbler, this one in maritime white, the same color as my pantsuit (yes, I match my tumblers to my outfits. Add it to the list of things to hate about me, people).
The back of my throat aches from trying not to cry. I walked around the Fellowship Hall for two, maybe three minutes, and not a single person made room for me.
Most of them wouldn’t even look at me.
Flashes of memories assault me—me walking into a new ballet studio to judgment and sneers. Me laughing too hard at a mixer in college with the Martha’s Vineyard crowd. Me talking to the “wrong people” at one of Aldridge’s parents’ parties.
My phone buzzes.
MERYL
How did the deviled eggs go over?
KAYLA
Did you know that not everyone loves truffle salt?
MERYL
What? That place is crazy, Kay. You know what place isn’t crazy??
Except her next text isn’t of Bora Bora. It’s of Phineas and Louisa holding pictures they’ve drawn.
MERYL
BORA BORA! We miss Auntie Kay! COME!
The pictures are of them on the beach … except they’ve added me, too. I can tell because of the height and the orange hair (even if I’m auburn). We have huge smiles, no torsos, and are all arms and legs. Though I appreciate that they’ve added a bikini top on my stick.
If I were still with Aldridge, I could laugh. As it is, I only want to cry more.
Through the propped-open doors, muffled laughter and the clacking of plastic utensils wafts on the light breeze, reaching me as surely as the smell of fried chicken seasoned with passive aggression. The muggy air is almost too much for comfort, but it’s not as hot as the embarrassment I felt in the Fellowship Hall.
Although one of my shoulders doesn’t fit under the shade of the tree, and the sun is starting to make it feel toasty.
Is that my punishment for getting an F in church? A taste of the fire, if not the brimstone?
Why did I leave a world where at least some people loved me?
Why am I here when no one wants me?
What is so awful about me?—
