It took a moment for my mother to realize he was speaking to her—which wasn’t a huge surprise, considering we were seated at a table for twenty even though there were only four of us. Christmas dinner at my parents’ house had been a formal affair as far back as I could remember. When I was a little girl, I loved dressing up in frilly dresses, sipping sparkling grape juice while pretending it was wine, and nibbling on each of the courses as they were served. Eventually, I realized that other families didn’t celebrate Christmas with stilted conversation while sitting on opposite ends of the room from each other. I started to long for fun holiday traditions like building snowmen and baking cookies as a family, but my mother disabused me of those “silly notions” in no time at all.
“Mm-hmm, one thing we can say about Narkissa is that she has excellent taste in gifts.” She stroked the Hermès silk scarf I gave her and flashed me a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
My mother was the master of backhanded compliments, especially when it came to me. I wasn’t the perfect daughter she wanted—that role fell to my younger sister—and she never hesitated to let me know all the ways I fell short. Any praise she gave me had an edge to it, and I’d learned long ago not to take her criticism personally. We were very different people with goals that were worlds apart from each other. The only way I could live up to her standards would be if I tossed all mine out the window, and that was never going to happen.
“It’s just too bad that the same can’t be said for her taste in men.”
I should’ve known she was going to go there. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come over for a family dinner when she hadn’t brought up the fact that I was single.
“How would we even know what kind of guy she likes?” my sister snorted. “She’s twenty-one and never so much as gone out on a single date.”
I was used to Minerva’s little barbs, but this one still struck a nerve. It wasn’t that her opinion mattered to me that much. It was more that I’d wondered for several years if something was wrong with me. Not because guys didn’t ask me out on dates—that happened plenty even though my sister would be the last to admit to it since she’d gone out with several men who’d asked me first. But I had never met someone who had caught my interest.
There had been no schoolgirl crushes for me. I’d never felt butterflies swirl in my belly over a guy.
The smile our mother aimed Minerva’s way held all the warmth missing from the one she had just given me. Born two years after me, my little sister was everything my mother had ever wanted in a daughter—a carbon copy of herself, in looks and personality.
“Exactly my point, Minnie.” I bit my lip to hold back my usual giggle at her nickname for Minerva. In my head, I always heard a silent “Me” at the end. Our mother couldn’t have picked something more appropriate if she’d tried, but she was utterly clueless as to why I found the nickname hilarious. And after Minerva had accused me of laughing out of jealousy, there was zero chance I was ever going to share the real reason I thought her nickname was ridiculous.
My dad took another gulp of his scotch before setting the glass down again. “Narkissa will date when she’s ready, dear. There’s no reason for either of our girls to rush into a relationship with a man until they find the right one.”
“I already did, Daddy.” Minerva wiggled her left hand to show off the huge diamond ring on her finger. “Charles is perfect for me.”
Her fiancé was far from perfect by any reasonable standard. They’d just gotten engaged two weeks ago, but the man couldn’t even be bothered to join us for Christmas dinner. When I’d asked what he was doing tonight, she’d offered some lame excuse about an international conference call. I wasn’t sure how she’d kept a straight face when she’d said it, as if business meetings on the most celebrated holiday around the world were totally normal. My best guess was that the jerk gave her the ring to get her off his case and was now spending the holiday with his mistress.
“He’s quite the catch,” my mother agreed. “You did an excellent job attracting his eye. He’ll make you a fine husband.”
“He certainly will.” Minerva flashed me a smug grin before she took a sip of her champagne.
I lifted my glass and mumbled, “Only because his bank account will keep you happy.”
“If you have something to say, do it loudly enough that we can all hear you,” my mother scolded. “It’s rude to mutter to yourself at the dinner table.”