We were halfway through dessert when the atmosphere shifted, and I felt that familiar tightening in the air that signaled my family’s favorite pastime was about to begin.
My mother leaned toward me, jasmine perfume heavy in my throat, her manicured hand resting on my arm as if she were being affectionate.
“You know, Alyssa,” she whispered sweetly, “we only asked you to come because we felt bad, you look so lonely in that tiny apartment of yours, and please do not stay too long because we have important guests coming over later.”
For a second I thought I had misunderstood her, but when I met her eyes I saw only amusement and superiority.
Before I could respond, my brother Kyle burst into loud laughter that rolled across the table without shame.
“Mom, you are going to crush her,” Kyle said between laughs, wiping at his eyes, then he looked straight at me and added, “Alyssa is the family warning label, the one who never quite takes off, the one we always have to patch up and hide.”
My aunt Cheryl and cousin Logan covered their smiles with napkins, and my father, Richard Grant, did not laugh but he did nothing to stop them.