I check the time on my phone. It’s an hour until Dax’s appointment. My stomach churns, and my headache compounds. I know how these meetings go, and my mother will want to dominate the room. How will I ever get out of here in time?
The back of my hand swipes over my piping hot forehead. This whole situation is making me physically sick. Perhaps I can leverage it as an excuse to leave early. Entering the dining room, I press my hand into my stomach and taste every sour note washing over my tongue.
“Vanessa, darling,” my mother calls, standing at the head of the table. “Are you all right?”
I frown at her and give a slight head shake.
She beckons me over, and I exaggerate the wobble in my walk. Mom puts an arm around me and feels my forehead.
“What’s wrong?” she asks in a low voice.
“I feel sick,” I whisper discreetly. “I have a headache, and my stomach is so fragile.”
Mom pats my back and motions to the nearby chair. “You’ll sit next to me. You don’t have to taste everything.” She snaps her fingers at a server. “Get my daughter a glass of ginger ale.”
The server nods. “Right away, Mrs. Ashworth.”
I clear my throat and lean in closer to my mother’s ear. “Perhaps I should go home.”
Mom stifles a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
A server pulls out my chair, and another places the ginger ale in front of my setting. In defeat, I plonk down on the dining chair as everyone takes their seats.
“Hello ladies,” my mother greets everyone, still standing. “It’s so good to once again see you all in person.”
Breathy laughter and smiles beam back at her from around the table.
“Hilda,” Mrs. Fisher addresses my mother, standing from her seat. “We are so happy to have you back, but the jetlag must be draining. I’m happy to continue steering these meetings until you’re back on your feet.”
I watch the condescension twitching at the corners of my mother’s smile. “It won’t be necessary for you to start doing that, Naomi.” Mom gestures to me. “We’re all aware my daughter has been running everything smoothly in my absence.”
It rocks Mrs. Fisher, cracking her smug expression. She lowers in her seat, mumbling, “Yes, of course.”
I catch Hope’s nostrils flare as her mother retreats beside her.
Chef Renaldo joins us in the dining room. Demure applause welcomes him from the table, and he and my mother kiss each other on both cheeks.
“Thank you all for coming and tasting the wonderful menu I’ve put together for you,” Renaldo says in his slight French accent. “I’m so honored to help such a wonderful cause, brought to our attention by Vanessa Ashworth.”
Mom leads the table in a heftier round of applause.
I lift a hand in a humble response.
Chef Renaldo introduces the first dish; an entrée of pan-seared scallops with arugula pesto. It’s hard to feign illness when something so exceptional is placed before you. I eat one of the three on my plate, giving my mother a saddened look of not being able to finish the rest.
When entrées are cleared, my eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Oh my gosh, it’s getting dangerously close to Dax’s appointment time. I promised tobe there with him, which is what made him agree to it. What will he do if I’m not there?
When I scheduled the meeting with Cindy, I didn’t even mention Dax. But surely Dr. Harris will meet with him. He’s the one who discovered the issue with Dax’s white blood cell count.
Maybe if I text Dax I’ll be late, he can tell Dr. Harris I arranged the appointment for him. I can confirm everything when I get there. Dax just needs a heads-up.
There’s a tremor in my hand as I pull out my phone. I exhale shallowly and open my text chain with Dax. As I start the message, my mother shifts beside me.
Mom places her hand over my phone. “What on earth could be so important?”
My fingers cramp, and my heart stops for a millisecond. She’s not going to ask who I’m texting, is she?
“Put it away,” she scolds. “This meeting is the only important thing in your life.”
