grin on her face. “Then that’s what you should do!” Her expression grew more serious. “I know he really, really likes you.”
“Wha?” I said around the taco in my mouth. “Wha ooo yoo mee?”
She shook her head lightly. “Never mind. I didn’t say anything.”
She had, though, and now my suspicions were up. I didn’t like the feeling that people were conspiring around me, or talking about me without me present. But Ashley was my best friend. I knew she wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. And I was too excited at the idea of marching right up to Boston this very second to tell him I was ready to forgive him to think too much about it.
I finished chewing and wiped my hands on the napkin that hadn’t saved hot sauce from dripping on my shirt. I stood up, thinking there was no time like the present to right a wrong, but froze when the feedback from the mic on stage sent everyone grabbing for their ears.
“Can I have your attention on the stage please?” Boston’s voice said. But it was coming from the ridiculous pig costume Pam had brought for the opening, and I knew that couldn’t be right. Boston wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing. He said so at the opening, and that was why Dalton had to wear it. Boston was far too concerned about appearances to put that thing on. I squinted up at the stage like I could somehow see through the enormous pink pig head if I just strained hard enough, but then I was distracted by the rest of the ensemble onstage. Beside Boston the pig stood Lincoln, Dalton, one of Frank’s blond mannequins, Chad, and my mother.
“Oh no,” I muttered, standing there frozen as they all took their places on the stage. A dark worry gnawed at my gut, making me regret the third taco I’d inhaled.
“Thanks for coming out to the Cunning Ham today, folks. I know this is a bit unconventional, but I hope you’ll humor me. We’ve got a little play for you. I hope you’ll enjoy it.” His voice wasn’t as sure as usual, and I suspected it was due to the fact he was in front of a hundred people wearing a giant pig costume. Plus, there was that thing he’d told me before, about having terminal stage fright ever since the performance he’d been in during junior high school.
Boston’s voice came back, pulling my attention back to the stage. “I give you, Romeo and Juliet, the condensed version. The one with a pig. And a mannequin. And less of that family warfare stuff.” The pig head bowed for a second and then came back up. “We really should have just called it something else,” he announced.
That really was him in the pig costume. What in the world was going on? I sat back down.
A taped tinny soundtrack rang out and it sounded like someone had recorded an orchestra with one of those old-fashioned tape player things. Everyone on stage coupled up and began dancing. Lincoln danced with Dalton. Chad held onto the mannequin like he was the duke in a “Bridgerton” remake. Boston the enormous swine danced with my mother, who was grinning like she’d just won the wild card prize at bingo. They were at a ball, apparently.
Chad and the mannequin twirled up to the center of the stage, where Boston had set the microphone into its stand. “I shall give you my house address, fair maiden, so you may call upon me in future. For parting is such sweet sorrow,” Chad delivered this loudly, and very, very badly. “I would ask for yours,” he went on, addressing the audience now, “but we’re all about female empowerment, etcetera.” The audience twittered with nervous laughter.
Everyone on stage stopped dancing, forcing our attention to Chad as he dug in his pocket for something. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but my eyes kept moving to where Boston stood with my mother, one of his pink pig arms braced around her frail back. There was something about the way he held her there that made me think he was taking care of her. That even though they were just standing there, involved in some kind of bizarre intermission entertainment (did Pam authorize this? I wasn’t sure it was the right PR move for the winery, really), Boston was looking out for Mom. It made my chest warm and my heart soften even more toward the