“A lunch at your house? For the bricklayer’s assistant?” Pamela exclaimed, her voice hitting a high, jarring note as if Melissa had just announced an unplanned pregnancy.
“When are you going to stop calling him that?” Melissa frowned, losing her patience with the derogatory nickname.
“When he becomes something more than a bricklayer’s assistant!” Pamela scoffed. She swung her front door open wider, masking her simmering rage with a sharp movement, and led Melissa to the sofa.
“And what then? Are you going to let your anger stop you from eating my mom’s chicken lasagna?”
“I’ll be there,” Pamela said with mockery. “Purely for moral support.”
“Other boys are coming too. Maybe you’ll actually meet someone,” Melissa suggested, her voice full of genuine hope for her friend.
“I don’t need t
