Beside me, my nine-year-old son, Ethan, became completely still.
I turned toward him at once. “Sweetheart, it’s okay.”
But his gaze stayed locked on the stage.
He had put on his best blue shirt that day. He had combed his own hair. He had even asked whether Uncle Caleb might dance with him after dinner because he missed having men in the family who smiled at him. Familyrecipe books
Now he looked at all of them as if he had just learned something that could never be unlearned.
Tiffany continued laughing. “Oh, don’t look so serious, Grace. It’s just a joke.”
My mother added, “If she could take a joke, maybe she wouldn’t be single.”
More laughter followed.
Something inside me splintered, but before I could rise, Ethan shoved his chair back.
“Ethan,” I whispered.
