“Okay,” she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. “Yeah, we’re definitely going.”
My father finally stood up, looking irritated rather than concerned.
“You’re making a scene,” he said to Tessa.
She turned and stared at him in a way I had never seen before—cold and absolutely done.
“She has a head injury.”
“From frosting,” Madison added sarcastically.
But the sarcasm died when I swayed again, gripping the edge of the table.
Someone at another table had stopped eating and was watching us now.
A waiter approached cautiously. “Do you… need help?”
“Yes,” Tessa said immediately. “Can someone call an ambulance?”
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