Julia
“Vicki," I said, opening my eyes wide at the sight of my friend.
Her smile dimmed as she closed the door behind her. It didn't take her long, barely only seconds, to see the distress my mother had either failed to recognize or found worthy of celebration.
“Ana," Vicki said, speaking to my mother, “Rosemary said not to tell you, but there's a problem downstairs."
Mom turned to my friend, her expression sober. “A problem?"
“Something about chairs and the caterer…I think she mentioned hot dogs."
“Hot dogs." Mom's voice rose two octaves.
Vicki shrugged. “Short notice. Availability. I'm not sure. I only overheard."
“Oh." Mom turned toward the door and back as she wrung her hands. “Julia. I'm going to go downstairs…Vicki, you'll stay with Julia, won't you? Georgette is on her w
