fidgeting at her seat and sending occasional glances at our parents’ backs. We all watched as the two eldest family members return to the table with their laden plates.
Mother carefully positioned her plate on its setting, then rearranged the flatware. “Arent, the toast?” She said to my father, then waved her hand toward the reporter woman and her lackeys. “We’re about to start.”
Father’s features hardened as if he weren’t on board with this show of—whatever it was. Upper crust grandiosity? With thinned lips, he set down the fork he’d just barely picked up. Expelling a long sigh, he stood and cleared his throat.
Reporter-lady stepped in. “Okay, we’re just going to ask you to cooperate for just this first part, the baron’s toast to his family. We’d like to get shots of everyone holding their flutes up in unison and try several angles because of the light. So if you don’t mind moving slowly and holding when we ask you to? And then when it comes time to drink, take small sips and hold your glass in place. Once we’re done with this part, we’ll let you get to your brunch as normal but we really think the toast would make a great set piece for the feature.”
Ugh. Whatever. It would be a miracle if I wasn’t rolling my eyes in every single goddamn shot. But I’d been forced to do more inane things than this and it would be over soon.
And I had Kat here to endure it with me, thank god. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was instead frowning and watching Julia carefully.
Father swept up his champagne flute and tilted it toward us, prompting us to do the same. I was sure that the next speech to come out of his mouth would be cheesy and inauthentic. Unless he deigned to surprise me.
“Does anyone mind if I toast with my water goblet instead?” Kat blurted just as Arent was about to let go his self-important expulsion of hot air. My father stared at Kat. From his expression, you’d think she’d just asked him if she could eat a clod of dirt from the flower bed instead of the breakfast on her plate.
He blinked and Mother scoffed. “It would be better if you had the flute…” She turned to Man-Bun to reaffirm, and the reporter agreed that it would look better with everyone holding a flute. Kat made a face and set down the goblet, picking up the flute. She appeared troubled, deep in thought.
What the heck was going on? Maybe she just really hated mimosas.
Father droned on about the family reunion and the place of his childhood and our family’s connection to the land, honoring our heritage and blah blah blah. Blather blather blather. Finally with a curt nod toward Kat he said. “And welcome to our newest family member, Katharina. We hope you are here for a good long time.” I blinked. What he left unspoken was obvious–unlike the last one.
“Okay and can you just start taking some slow sips?” The reporter intervened. “We’ll move around the table and get the shots, want to do some effects so give us about five minutes or so?”
We all held the flutes to our mouths except for Julia. But Kat, seeing Julia’s hesitation, then put her flute down.
“Is there a problem?” Mother asked.
Kat calmly folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to drink and actually I think there must be enough nice photos in what they just took that they have plenty to use. So you don’t need to make anyone else here drink, especially, if they don’t want to. Or at least just let them fill their flute with orange juice.”
Mother seemed to lose all her color as she jerked her gaze at Julia. My sister hadn’t said a word but was looking down, her shoulders hunched, appearing very uncomfortable.
Father blew out a breath. “You know I really would like to eat my breakfast sometime in this next century.”
At the same time, Mother shook her head, fixated on her daughter. “Now is not the time to be making this all about you, Julia. We have a journalist here. Now stop making a big deal over a few swallows of champagne and just be a team player.”
I set my glass down, too, but not so much in solidarity as that my arm was getting tired. What was Julia’s problem? She seemed emotional, close to tears.
The reporter and the photographer were staring at each other. Katya flushed deep