Only for half a second.
She did not stare because staring would have admitted that she was waiting to see what I did.
Instead, she let her gaze brush mine before turning back to the woman seated beside her.
The corner of her mouth curved.
I knew that smile.
It was not the bright smile she used for photographs or the gracious one she wore while thanking donors.
It was the private smile she gave me when she believed she had moved me into the exact position she wanted.
I had seen it earlier that evening.
When I arrived at the restaurant, I was seven minutes early.
I had spent too long deciding what to wear because Celeste could make any choice look like a failure of character.
Too formal meant I was seeking attention.
Too casual meant I did not respect the occasion.
I finally chose a simple dark dress and a plain coat, then carried the small gift I had bought for her through the restaurant entrance.
The host directed me toward the private dining area.
I heard the party before I saw it.
Glasses were touching, people were greeting one another, and Celeste was laughing near the center of the table.
The room looked exactly as she had requested.
Gold pendant lights warmed the long table.
The cake waited on a side stand beneath a clear cover.
Cream place cards marked every setting.
I moved toward the only empty chair I could see, which was beside Lila.
A cream card stood in front of the plate.
I had not yet read the name when Celeste’s fingers closed lightly around my elbow.
Her touch was gentle enough to look affectionate from a distance.
“Maren,” she said brightly.
Several cousins turned toward us.
“Find another table, sweetheart. This one’s for family—not adopted girls.”
She laughed immediately after saying it.
That laugh gave everyone else permission.
The nearest relatives smiled first.
