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That’s all he says and all I’m going to get. We’re basically strangers, always have been.
Everything around me immediately adds to my discomfort: the noise of the crowd, the change from cool evening air to humid, this packed room, the overwhelming smell of food.
I inhale deeply and dip my chin. “Thank you.”
A photographer from the society pages stops us, and we pose for a photo together. My parents’ friends smile at us from all sides, wishing me a happy birthday. Not that any of them are actually here for me. A waiter walks by us with atray of champagne, but I shake my head when Alex tries to hand me one.
“I’ll get one later.”
He only shrugs and takes a sip of his.
Much to our father’s delight, Alex is also the spitting image of him: tall, lean, with brown hair that’s almost black, and dark-blue eyes. On the other hand, I lean more toward my mom with her average height, brown eyes, olive skin, and curves—that she pretends to love for the public but secretly hates.
While it’s easy to spot the family resemblance between Alex and me, we might as well have grown up in two families on opposite sides of the world instead of the same house for how estranged we are. Alex is living proof of how astute my father and his grooming skills are, at least as long as he’s dealt with a child who worships him and is easy to influence.
Which is not me.
Consequently, Alex has pretty much ignored me ever since my parents discovered I’m not like my older siblings. I have zero interest in the family business or playing an overzealous socialite.
There is no room in the Caldwell family for a child who would much rather “make noise”—as my parents used to call my music behind closed doors—than shove my nose in a book and talk about economic statistics or the future of the global financial market.
I disappointed the family, and they do their best to ignore me as much as possible.
And after what happened to my sister, they’ve barely been able to look at me for more than a few seconds.
Not that I blame them. They all heard our fight that dreadful night three years ago.
“I hope one day you can forgive me, Angie.”
The parting words my sister whispered to me before she sped off in her car will forever haunt me.
Herlastwords.
It’s a miracle I have people in my life who talk to me, let alone care about me, like Mason and Ruby.
That’s because they don’t know what you did.
As if summoned, my friends walk up next to me, giving me reassuring squeezes on my hand and shoulder. It’s enough to drag me out of my destructive thoughts.
Alex steers me past tables with elaborate floral decorations and toward our parents, who are already waiting for us on the other side of the room with fake smiles. As always, they are ideally situated in front of the thick velvet drapes over large gold-rimmed French windows. My mom once told me it’s the perfect backdrop for pictures because it makes her skin glow.
I’ve never seen her as disappointed as when I didn’t share her enthusiasm at that moment.
By now, my parents know I hate gatherings like this and I most likely won’t last more than an hour. The only saving grace is no one will miss me when I disappear.
My mom’s gaze travels over my meticulous makeup and lavish curls, down to my perfectly fitted floor-length designer dress and the thin heels that show with every step I take on the polished hardwood floors, due to the generous slit in the skirt.
Her smile doesn’t falter as I approach, which is as muchof a sign that nothing is amiss with my appearance as any word could be.
She wraps her arms around me when I’m within reach and squeezes. “Happy birthday, Evangeline.”
For those fleeting few seconds, I close my eyes and take in as much of her warmth and familiar scent of roses as possible. My dad clears his throat loudly, and the rare moment is over.
All noise in the room immediately ceases, everyone’s focus shifting to him.
“We’ve gathered today to celebrate the birthday of our beautiful daughter, Evangeline. May this evening be a celebration of joy, love, and family.”
The crowd erupts into applause. My dad’s gaze lands on me for half a breath, and he’s back to his speech.