The elegant ballroom was laid out on two levels. A formal stage accommodated a large band playing a milquetoast version of an Earth, Wind & Fire song. The walls were dark and draped in crushed velvet with gold inlay. Everything else was fresh and white. Tall ivory calla lilies rose from the table centerpieces. The tables themselves were overfilled with white and gold saucers, plates, and bowls, with matching embroidered napkins shaped like elephants. There was a modest dance floor and a light show that cast the room in various geometric overlays. They were handed heavy bags filled with expensive items, lotions, mascaras, shaving creams, Caterina jewelry, a three-day trip to wherever the hell Sag Harbor was, and a key to a mint green electric scooter.

She wanted to comment on how much of a waste this all was, but she stopped herself when she saw Granny’s face looking through all the items, oohing and aahing with Janae. They sat Granny at the winner’s table, where she was being waited on and fussed over.

She deserved this. Those slow arthritic fingers had known nothing but work all their life. Let her take center stage and be pampered.

Liza set her eyes around the room to see if WIC had arrived yet and could see no one with that particular build and hair. No biggie, he’ll probably be late. He was a revolutionary—he couldn’t show up on time for these bourgeois events. But he was coming to see her, she reasoned, not to really participate in all this. As if on cue, her mother pulled at her elbow.

“Where’s your Mr. Perfect? I thought he’d be standing outside to greet us with a truckload of roses or something.”

“Ma.” Liza wanted to scream. “He’s not a contestant on The Bachelorette, he’s just a guy I’m seeing, okay?”

“A guy who didn’t meet you when you came to his city,” Bev shot back.