to rejoin the festivities, we walked back to an empty room. Candace asked, “Where’d everyone go?” The balloons and flowers were all removed, too. The prerehearsal dinner party had vanished. I checked my watch. We were in the bathroom for only thirty minutes.
On the table next to our purses were two silver domes on top of two plates. One where Candace was seated, the other where I had been, next to Jane. I handed Candace one of the sets of silverware in the center of the table where the orchid arrangement had been.
She lifted her dome first, revealing a small can of ginger ale, a cup of chicken soup, and a pack of oyster crackers.
Under mine? A “skinny girl” salad, fat-free Italian dressing, and a small square of engagement cake with Jane’s face on it.
Classic.
“Hey! Where’s my cake?” Candace moaned.
I slid mine over to her. “Baby can have first dibs.”
Chapter Nine
Five thirty A.M. wakeup times were the worst, but I could either wake up at the asscrack of dawn or stay at work way past midnight to get the game launched on our accelerated schedule. Neither choice was good, and both were worse options than rocks or hard places. I chose the asscrack.
Already, these long days and nights had taken a toll on my body. But I had to do this. To prove to all the naysayers at work that I could handle it. Plus, with the Seventeen Studios brand name on my résumé I could go anywhere next. It had cachet like Google or Apple. AND . . . my game idea was going to be produced by ME! That was maybe the coolest thing to ever happen in my entire existence. Who cared if my life span shortened by a few hundred days because of the grueling work hours I imposed at age twenty-seven and a half?
On my drive to work I called my mom, who had texted that they were back from Italy. Eight in the morning central time was a perfectly reasonable time to call them. After all, she often called me presunrise in Seattle, presumably by accident.
Mom picked up on the first ring. “Melody-ya, what’s matter? You in hospital? You hurt? Why you call so early?” Her voice was more shrill and panicked with each sentence.
“I’m on my way to work and thought I’d call you while I had time in the car. I’m not in the hospital. Oh! I wanted to ask you something.”
My dad jumped on the line. “You finally have boyfriend? Is that why you call so early morning?”
Oh my god. I didn’t realize that calling at an unusual time translated into me being injured or announcing I was actually dating someone.
“No, Dad, I don’t have a boyfriend. I just called because I had time to check in with you.”
I could feel my parents’ hearts sink with their weighty silence.
“Well, at least you not in the jail.” Thanks, Mom.
“And you not call to tell us you move back home with us.” Thanks for looking on the bright side, Dad.
Time to change the subject. “So how was Italy? What cities were your favorites?”
“Rome. Vatican City. Venice. Very wet in Venice, you need special rain shoe,” Dad said. “Too many pigeon.”
“So did you have a good time, though? Did you go to a lot of museums and walking tours? How was the pizza and pasta?”
Mom chimed in. “I got sick of too many cannoli. Too much cheese in all our food. So we ask around for Korean food.”
“Wait, you ate Korean food in Italy?”
Dad cleared his throat. “Most of time. We miss some tours because we looking for it.”
I rubbed at my brow. “Seriously? You ate mostly Korean food there?”
“And some of your Carnation instant breakfast.”
I shook my head. Time to change the subject again. “Well, I hope you had fun. Anyway, remember when I downloaded the Liftr app on your phones when you came to visit me a long time ago?”
“Yes, we have some trouble, I remember, and you help us.” The trouble she referred to was when the app prompted her to enter a username, and she entered in all caps, “I.DO.NOT.HAVE.USER.NAME.SORRY.” Luckily, Liftr rejected it because it had too many characters.
“Have you guys used that app recently? I got some feedback from a driver that there had been some recent passenger activity that I wasn’t aware of.”
“Melody! What you blame us for?” In a flash, I had triggered my mom’s anger. You could hear it in her shrill, antagonistic voice, and