"I'm not crying," I lied, blinking rapidly. "I just—thank you. All of you. This is perfect."
We cut the cake together, and I fed the first piece to my mother, then my father, then Levis, who made a face because I'd deliberately chosen a piece with too much frosting.
After cake, we moved to the dining room for a more formal celebration.
We sat around the table, talking and laughing, and for a while I let myself just enjoy it but eventually, I knew I had to tell them.
"I want to go back to the United states," I said during a lull in the conversation.
The table went silent.
My father set down his champagne glass slowly. "What?"
"The United States," I repeated. "I want to go back."
"Rachel—" my mother started, but I held up a hand.
"Let me explain." I took a breath. "I'm not going j
