Chandler
"I hate that Kay left before dessert," Mom says without looking up, "we're having such a good time."
My stomach cramps.
I'm too tense.
Kay left early because her roommate had forgotten her keys. I hadn't realized it until now Kay kept the conversation flowing.
I study Mom, who sits to the right of Winsome. She leans forward, grabbing her fork.
Dad, to my left, sips his coffee, looking like he's savoring it. He smiles.
I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Chandler," Mom says, still not looking up, "uncross your arms. You're at the dinner table."
"Son," Dad pushes his mug away, frowning. "You never told me what happened with Grant. Did he contact you or have someone else do so?"
Grant?
Oh, he's the political guru. Dad doesn't make a move without his guidance.
