Mom lifts her hand, and I quickly lock the phone. “Sorry,” I mutter, tucking the phone back into my pocket.
Servers place two alternate mains on the table. A classic Beef Bourguignon, and a crispy roast salmon, with smashed potatoes and split peas. As I taste the salmon, delight bursts within me. I wonder if there’s any way I can get this packaged up and take it to Dax?
When the tiramisu is served for dessert, I lean close to Mom and keep my voice low. “I really should make a call.”
Mom huffs and doesn’t make eye contact. “Exactly what is so important?”
“I told you earlier,” I whisper. “I had a volunteer shift at the hospital.”
Mom turns to me with a perplexed expression. “I thought you said you’d taken care of that.”
I shrink in my chair. “What?”
“I told you to get someone to cover your shift. Did you not do that?” Mom then turns to the rest of the table, clearing her throat to gain everyone’s attention. “Excuse me, which girl is supposed to be at St. Mark’s right now?”
All the girls avert their eyes and shuffle in their seats.
Mom’s expression colors with stern disappointment. “Well?”
Saliva surges in my mouth as I wait for them to stop squirming. I hug my middle, bracing for the moment my mother’s dissatisfaction crashes onto me.
Mom nudges me. “Who did you ask to cover your shift?”
“I… I…” I swallow hard. “Umm, no one here.”
Mom’s eyebrow raises higher than I thought her botox would allow. “Why not?”
My mouth opens, but I can’t push a single syllable out.
“The other girls have signed-up, haven’t they?” Mom’s stare lingers on me, and then slowly pans across the rest of the table. “Raise your hand if you’re currently volunteering at St. Mark’s Hospital.”
There’s no movement at the silent table. After an excruciating long moment, Sylvie gradually raises her hand. My pulse blares in my ears as my mother’s head tilts with interest.
“Umm.” Sylvie’s voice breaks. “It’s not that we aren’tgoingto sign-up. It’s just that school is so busy and…”
“So it’s a no?” my mother interrupts.
Sylvie’s hand drops to her lap, and she looks at her mother for an appropriate response.
Mrs. Grant responds with a large gulp of her olive-stained martini.
Mrs. Fisher straightens in her seat. “We determined volunteering wasn’t the best use of the girls’ time.”
Mom’s lips twitch with pleasure. “Oh, you did, did you?”
“It’s senior year, and they need to concentrate on their grades,” Mrs. Fisher replies. “When they’re here, their attention needs to be focused on the gala. That’s priority number one.”
“And you don’t think community outreach is a branch of that priority?” Mom asks calmly. “We all know the clubs and volunteer groups they join at school contribute to them graduating from high school. How did you not think their charity acts would reflect positively on the gala? When benefactors learn about the young women in our community helping those less fortunate, it helps lend the cause authenticity and increases their desire to monetarily support.”
Mrs. Fisher looks at Mrs. Grant and then back at my mother.
“I mean, really, I would have thought this was obvious,” my mother says, leaning into the pleasure of talking down to her peers.
Mrs. Fisher dabs her linen napkin across her brow. “Maybe I didn’t consider all the options.” She lowers the napkin to her lap. “When Hope told me she didn’t want to do it, I started thinking about how…”
Mom cuts Hope in half with a penetrating glare. “Oh, you didn’t want to volunteer, Hope?”
Hope smooths her hair with trembling fingers. “It’s not that I didn’t want to.”
