Amelia was adding a finishing touch—a pattern of yellow dots around the sides. “What do you think I should wear?”

“Whatever you want,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “What you have on is fine.”

Of course that’s what Mrs. O’Brien would say. But Amelia wanted to be transformed, like the cake. As she placed each dot she asked a question in her head. It became a chant: What should I wear? How should I act? What should I say? Who should I be?

Dot. Dot. Dot. Dot. Dot.

“Sweetie,” said Mrs. O’Brien gently. “If you think any louder, I’ll need earplugs. Don’t worry. Just be yourself.”

30 • What Was Actually Happening

In the front hallway, when they were officially introduced, and Hannah Barnes extended her hand and said, “I’ve been waiting to meet you,” Amelia felt a shiver run down her spine. For a moment, as their fingers made contact, Amelia’s fantasy became real once again. The words Epiphany and Mother flitted across her mind and nearly touched her lips. And then, just as quickly, Amelia was back in the present, and what was actually happening was more than enough to put her in a heightened state.

Although she was certain that Mrs. O’Brien had cooked a delicious meal, Amelia ate but didn’t really taste anything. She was too busy watching Hannah Barnes. Dinner began as one could expect, with stiffness and shyness and uncertainty and politeness setting the mood. Amelia was quiet as a clenched fist. But gradually the mood shifted. Hannah Barnes was easy, bright, warm—a catalyst for conversation. She smiled a lot and looked right at Amelia when she asked a question or listened to the answer. Her eyes were speckled—green and gold—like marbles.

After the slow start, dinner unfolded so pleasantly that Amelia wondered if it could be true. Mrs. O’Brien was her proficient, ideal self. But her father was more talkative than usual, and funny. A minor miracle of everyday life, taking place in an ordinary dining room.

“That was wonderful,” said Hannah. “You’re a wonderful cook, Mary.”

It was jarring to Amelia when anyone called Mrs. O’Brien Mary. Even her father called her Mrs. O’Brien.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “But wait until you see dessert.” She glanced at Amelia. “Our cake is something to behold.”

Amelia and Mrs. O’Brien cleared the table. In the kitchen, the swinging door closed behind them, Mrs. O’Brien whispered, “What do you think? She’s nice, isn’t she?”

Amelia bit her lip and nodded. “She is. She really is.”

“I’ll take the plates and a knife,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “You carry the cake.”

Amelia didn’t want to like Hannah Barnes too much. She needed to protect herself. “What do you think will happen? With her? And Dad?”

“Well, you know your father,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “I think—” She stopped. “I think this cake is beautiful,” she said in a much louder voice. Cheerful. She held the door open for Amelia.