Chapter 1 - The Party My Children Were Forced to Serve
I knew something was wrong before Rebecca saw me.
My ten-year-old daughter was weaving through my parents’ crowded backyard with a stack of dirty plates pressed against her chest. The pile was so high she had to tilt her head sideways to see.
Samuel, eight, stood near the patio holding a tray crowded with half-empty glasses.
Jacob, six, was scrubbing barbecue sauce from a folding table with a filthy gray rag.
Three teenage cousins were filming him.
They were laughing.
“Rebecca?”
She turned toward me.
The second she saw my face, hers crumpled.
“Dad… Grandma said we have to serve everybody.”
I crossed the lawn.
Samuel’s tray started sliding from his trembling hands.
I caught it before the glasses hit the patio.
“Give me this.”
Samuel released it immediately.
His fingers were red from gripping the metal handles.
“Grandpa said we don’t eat until they finish.”
I looked toward the buffet.
My children’s cousins were eating burgers, ribs, potato salad, and birthday cake.
My three kids hadn’t even been given plates.
Jacob kept scrubbing.
I took the rag from him and threw it onto the table.
“You’re done.”
“But Grandma—”
“I said you’re done.”
I moved all three children behind me.
That was when my father came across the lawn.
Robert Miller was sixty-five and still carried himself like every room belonged to him.
“What exactly is your problem?”
“My problem?”
He pointed toward my children.
“They made the mess. They can work.”
Rebecca whispered behind me.
“We didn’t make it.”
Dad heard her.
His mouth twisted.
“Those filthy kids should be grateful to serve us.”
I slapped him.
Hard.
He staggered backward and dropped directly into the enormous birthday cake behind him.
Guests screamed.
My mother, Helen, rushed toward me.
“What is wrong with you?”
She grabbed my arm.
I knocked her hand away.
“Don’t touch me.”
Then I pulled the folded receipt from my pocket.
Mom stopped.
Dad stared at it from the ruined cake.
His anger disappeared.
I looked around at the rented tables, catered food, decorations, and nearly seventy guests.
“Do you really not know who’s paying for this party?”
My father’s face changed.
But Rebecca tugged my shirt before he could answer.
“Dad?”
I looked down.
May you like
She whispered, “Grandpa told Grandma you’d never find out what else you paid for.”
The receipt suddenly mattered for a reason I hadn’t expected.
