Applause erupted around the table. Lauren lowered her head modestly, then lifted it again just enough to glow.
My mother went on. “She is fearless. She is original. She has vision. She has what so many people don’t have, which is that spark. That instinct. That magic. She is the daughter I am truly proud of.”
There are moments in life when time does not slow down.
It sharpens.
Every sound in the room became specific. The ringing tap of silverware against a plate somewhere outside the private room. The fizz of champagne bubbles in my glass. The hum of the recessed lighting. The soft brush of Jacob shifting beside me. My own pulse, suddenly huge in my throat.
I clapped.
Of course I clapped.
I had been clapping for Lauren my whole life.
I had clapped when she got a lead in the school play after forgetting half her lines at auditions. I had clapped when she switched college majors for the third time and my parents called it bold. I had clapped when she quit her first job after two months because her supervisor “didn’t understand her energy.” I had clapped when she announced she was launching a curated capsule brand experience, which turned out to be an Instagram page and a logo someone on Fiverr made for forty dollars.
I had clapped because clapping was easier than asking why no one ever stood up with a glass for me.
