I need a distraction because I feel like I’m going to burst into tears and switch off from what is turning out to be a disaster of an evening. “How long have you worked at Miam?” Lacey mentioned she worked as head chef at the classy French restaurant in Myrtle Beach.
“About two years. I love it there. You should come visit one day. I’ll stuff you full of sweets.”
When the white noise lingers in the background, I’m thankful the distraction is working. “I actually have walked past it a few times, but my…Stella”—I can’t stomach referring to her as my mom—“refuses to dine anywhere but the country club.” I curl my lip in disgust.
“So your mom is an asshole?”
Lacey’s question has me loosening up and forgetting my meltdown. “You could say that. I have brothers and sisters, but they are nothin
