He smiles across the room at his bride. “We’re finally going to be one big, happy family. I believe that with all my heart.”

I’m glad one of us does. It’s obvious he doesn’t know who his sons truly are. I would hate to burst his bubble and ruin his illusions.

When the dance is over, I excuse myself to go to the ladies’ room. It’s funny—even though nobody is really paying me any attention, I’m still overwhelmed and want to be alone for a few minutes, at least. It’s quieter in here, secluded, even cooler without so many bodies heating things up. I take advantage of that by sitting on a stool in front of a long mirror spanning the wall opposite the sectioned-off toilets. Maybe I can stay in here all night, pretend to be an attendant. I’m sure nobody would know the difference, anyway, since I hardly exist.

“I thought I saw you crawl in here.” I look up from where I’m rubbing my feet to see Deborah entering, a glass of red wine in one hand and an ugly smirk etched across her face.

“Can you please give it up for just one night?” I ask. “This isn’t the time or the place. I want to keep things nice for my mom.”

“Then you should have stayed home. Nobody wants to see your ugly face around here.”

“Whatever you say.”

Clearly, that isn’t enough for her. She wants to watch me break down. Nothing short of that will satisfy her. “So you agree? You’re ugly, and nobody wants to see you around?”

“Deborah, it’s not that I’m normally in the mood for this, but I am especially not in the mood right now. I don’t know what you want me to say besides we’re not in high school anymore.” You’d think she’d act more like an adult. I know we’re only eighteen, but geez, we’re not twelve.

“You could say goodbye.”

I stand, sliding back into my shoes and facing her. “You want me to say goodbye? Fine. I’m leaving the room.”

“No. That’s not quite good enough.”

I can’t help but gasp in horror when she tosses the entire content of her glass at me. The red wine splashes onto my dress, and crimson immediately soaks into the light-colored fabric. The cold liquid seeps into my dress and my skin before dripping down my legs and onto my heels.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I whisper, looking down at myself. It’s ruined, there’s no getting this out, and I can’t imagine sitting through the rest of the night looking this way. Mom is going to have a fit.