“Nora,” she said, “when they call the family up in a little bit, stay back from the stage.”
For one second, I thought maybe she meant there wouldn’t be room.
The room felt too bright. My brain started scrambling for a softer explanation all on its own. Maybe Vanessa wanted just parents and siblings. Maybe she had a photographer plan. Maybe—
“Vanessa doesn’t want any bad luck near her tonight.”
The sentence landed in my body before it landed in my mind.
I actually looked behind me, like maybe she was talking to someone else. Then I looked back at her and found that flat, composed expression I knew too well. She meant it. Every word. She had carried it all the way across that ballroom and set it down right at my feet.
“Bad luck?” I said.
My voice came out thin. Not angry. Not even shocked. Just small, which I hated more than anything.
My mother didn’t flinch.
“She’s nervous,” she said. “It’s her night. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.”
Harder.
I remember staring at her mouth while she spoke, because if I looked into her eyes I thought I might break right there in front of everybody. Around us, laughter kept rolling from table to table. Someone near the cake let out a loud burst of applause. Silverware clinked. A phone camera flashed.
The party kept moving.
