A waiter swoops in to start clearing the second course and my father leans toward him, as if he’s going to speak to him one on one, then proceeds to announce his next words to half the restaurant.
“My daughter just starred in a Broadway musical,” he boasts. “We’re here to celebrate. Avery, come on, tell him about the musical.”
Why do parents think random strangers care about the achievements of their children? Hey, yeah, can you get the busboy over here too? I want to let him know my kid got an A on his spelling test.
The waiter’s eyebrows shoot up with interest all the same.
I reach for my water and try to channel Jesus, but when I take a sip, I’m sad to report it hasn’t been transformed into wine.
“Dad,” Avery chides when the waiter finally walks away after getting an autograph. He tried for her number too, but she laughed off his request like he was joking. He was definitely not joking. “Okay, come on, guys. New subject. Whitney, how is everything down in Georgia? Are you still working in the dorm?”
I should say yes, my life is exactly the same as the last time you asked me about it. I still dress up like a princess and take photos with children during the day, and at night, I babysit a bunch of college freshmen.
I can’t get those words out though. Instead, I say, “No, actually. When I return, I’ll be accepting a new position.”
Everyone perks up, intrigued. Derek most of all.
“So you aren’t going to be playing that princess girl anymore?” my dad asks, like I’ve been spending the last decade of my life slumming it.
“No. This will be a major promotion. Long overdue.”
Derek sits perfectly quiet, neither confirming nor refuting my claims.
My heart threatens to burst from my chest.
What am I saying?
Is this even the truth? It’s what Cal has wanted for years, but I’ve been too chicken to actually make the move, to accept a new role and shake things up. My position as Princess Elena is what I’ve known. I’m good at it. In other words, it’s safe.
In that instant, a new future unfurls before me. One that doesn’t involve me staying stuck in my rut. One that feels terrifying yet exhilarating. For once, I don’t run from it.
Yes. Okay. I’m going to do this. I’m going to take Cal up on his offer.
I’m smiling now, high on the thrill of making a major life decision and going for it.
I’m going to accept a new position. I could cry. I might be crying already. Derek’s hand wraps around mine and squeezes.
I glance up, thrilled, and then realize the conversation at the table has moved on without me. My mom is asking Avery when she can get them tickets to another show. They want to go to as many as they can, and maybe if their schedule allows, they’ll even—
I can’t take it.
I stand up, chair screeching. I’m now taller than that ridiculous vase of peonies.
“Are you guys freaking kidding me right now?” I’m breathing heavy, like marathon-finish-line heavy.
My dad looks around, embarrassed. My mom tries to get to me sit back down.
“Whitney, just—”
“No. I won’t sit. I just announced that I’m getting a major promotion and you two didn’t even ask me about it. It’s a really big deal. You should care.”
“We do care,” my mom says hurriedly.
“No you don’t. You’ve already moved on to talking about Avery’s musical again. I mean, you could have at least asked me about it. Just one question.”
I hold up a finger to emphasize my point.
“We care,” my mom assures me. “Sit down and we can talk about your promotion.”
My weight shifts from foot to foot as I realize I’m definitely not sitting back down, not now that I’ve actually stood up for once in my life. “No. You don’t get it. This isn’t about the promotion, really. It’s just…” I glance back and forth between them, their eyes wide in horror, or maybe just sheer disbelief that I have a voice. “Sometimes you both act like I don’t even exist. No, not sometimes. All the time.” Words continue coming, like I’ve tapped a deep reserve of oil and now there’s no way to stem the flow. “Your whole world revolves around Avery and I’m sick of you guys treating me like I don’t matter as much as her.” I cringe, hearing the accusation. “I don’t think you do it on purpose, it’s just—” I turn to