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Honestly, not much was worse than brunches at Le Petit Bateau. Mom and the other ladies from her social circle all gathered around a table, eating expensive shrimp and drinking their weight in martinis and glasses of wine. And of course I was forced to witness all of it, except I only drank water.
The only person who made it the slightest bit bearable was Ms. Nancy, who sat across from me. Older than the hills and crotchety.
Her name was actually Nancy, but Mom always told me to add the “Ms.” to be polite. She was invited to these brunches only because everyone hoped to get a slice of her will. Or at least that’s what I assumed since they weren’t inviting her for her personality, which was at total odds with their prim and proper attitude.
I, however, absolutely loved Nancy. She reminded me of an elderly version of Margot.
Right now, she sipped her second glass of red wine, clearly not paying attention to the conversation.
“Oh, Alice, I mean it—you should really look into building that addition when the ground thaws. Wait too long and you’ll be too old to enjoy it. Like me!”
Mom tipped her head to the side. “We’re holding off for now. David’s not sure if we want to stay in Addison long-term, you know. He’s been thinking about Biscayne Park. They have better neighborhoods and their private schools are top of the line.”
“How are you enjoying school, Destelle?” Mrs. Conan asked me, pointing a very long finger in my direction. It wavered in the air, like she wasn’t sure where exactly I sat. “I hear Eastview is a very fine school.”
“Oh, the education I receive is far more important than my enjoyment, and it’s a good education. I definitely get that at Eastview.”
My tone came out plasticky and robotic, but I didn’t miss Mom’s polite smile. Mrs. Conan was the managing partner at Mom’s firm, AKA her boss—before every time the ladies gathered, I got the usual “be on your best behavior, Destelle” speech. As the ladies murmured with approval, I’d say I did okay.
Nancy caught my gaze and rolled her eyes; my BS didn’t fool her.
“I can’t wait until I start high school in the fall,” said Grace, the girl beside me. She was Mrs. Conan’s daughter, and though she didn’t frequent the banquets too often, she never missed a brunch day. And she always insisted on sitting right next to me. “I’m so bummed you’ll be graduating, Destelle. How cool would it have been if we could’ve been in high school together?”
“It would’ve been so fun,” I returned, though I wasn’t sure I believed the sentiment.
Trapped between my thigh and the cloth of the chair, my cell phone vibrated, and I quickly shifted before it made too loud of a noise. My heart jumped into my throat at the possibility ofwhocould be texting me.
Hiding it from Mom’s view, I risked a glance at the screen.
And the excitement dropped.
Margot:How’s Brunch with the Bee-yotches? Anyone brag about their latest car yet?
I flipped my hair over my shoulder, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as Ms. Jennings ran her finger along her martini glass.
“Yvette, did you see my new convertible? All the men at Alderton always brag about engines and such, but I finally realize how fun cars are.”
Holding in a snort, I tried texting with one hand.
Me:Whoa, that was freaky. Ms. Jennings just did. You have ESP?
Margot:More like PTSD. I know how those brunches are.
Without warning, a sharp pain pricked at my lower thigh, and I looked over to find Mom settling back in her seat, giving me a look as stern as she dared with the brunch ladies present.
Did shepinch me?
I slid my cell back under my leg, my cheeks heating before I shoved down the bubbling emotion.
“So, Destelle,” Grace whispered, as if she wanted to have a conversation just between us even though we sat at a table full of gossips. “Meet any cute boys lately?”
Boys. I avoided the subject at all costs, especially at these brunches. “N-Not really.”
“She hesitated!” Ms. Jennings said gleefully, leaning her elbows onto the table. “Tell us, dear. Give us all the details.”
All the eyes suddenly on me made it nearly impossible to open my mouth. I didn’t want this attention. Mom had to be staring at me, but I couldn’t bear to look at her. She’d be able to tell if I was lying and I absolutely couldn’t tell them about Harry.
“All right, who got the garlic-roasted shrimp?” a low voice called from behind me, and suddenly a mouthwatering scent of seafood and vegetables washed over the table. I slumped in my chair with a barely contained sigh of relief, watching as everyone’s attention went from me to the food. Bullet dodged.
