Nobody needed to announce that dinner meant something.
The way my mother kept checking the time was enough.
She wasn’t pacing. She doesn’t pace. But she kept glancing at the clock like she was measuring the evening before it even started. The dining table had already been set by the staff, but she still adjusted the glasses herself. She changed the candles because she didn’t like the shade of ivory. Too warm, she said. It made the room look soft.
Tonight was not about soft.
I stayed upstairs longer than usual, sitting on the edge of my bed, my dress laid out beside me. I had gone through three options before settling on this one. A cream silk dress. Long sleeves. Clean neckline. It skimmed my body without holding onto it. It didn’t try to hide my stomach, but it didn’t make it the focu
