My aunt wore silver bangles that chimed when she put her arm around my shoulder to pull me into the circle. “Look how tall you are. You girls have grown so much in the past couple years. How tall are you now, Lake?”
“Five-eight, I think.”
“My word,” Uncle Darryl said. “You might have to do some modeling on the side to help with that private tuition.”
Tiffany’s neck flushed. She was the model in the family, not me—God forbid there were two of us, even though we’d been mistaken last year for Niki and Krissy Taylor. Tiffany had taken it as a sign that she was supposed to be a model. Not me, though. “I’m almost five-eight, too,” Tiffany snipped.
“Is that so?” my aunt asked. “Maybe Lake’s legs are a bit longer. She gets that from your grandma.”
I could’ve sworn Tiffany’s head ballooned, and not with ego. Just as I braced myself for an explosion, Manning appeared at her side. He whispered something in her ear, and she took a breath. It was the first time in recent history, maybe ever, that Tiffany hadn’t let her anger get the better of her and spat out a nasty comment.
My dad walked up and patted his brother’s back. “I’m assuming that enormous present you brought Lake is a personal computer. More and more students have them these days.”
I blushed at his teasing. “Dad.”
“I wish it was, kiddo,” my uncle said to me. “If only I didn’t have two college tuitions coming my way.”
“Any progress with Craig?” Dad asked.
My cousin Craig was sixteen and, to the family’s dismay, had his heart set on the military. My peace-loving, Berkeley-alum aunt and uncle couldn’t wrap their heads around it, and my dad just all around disapproved of not going to college. “No,” Roberta said, “but we’ve still got a couple years to change his mind.”
Dad nodded. “It’s a good thing Lake’s around to carry on the Trojan line,” he said. “I have no idea what I would’ve done if she hadn’t gotten in. None.”
Manning put an arm around Tiffany and tried to pull her away. Remembering what he’d said in the kitchen, I began to hear the conversation as she might, more reminders of what she hadn’t done. But for some reason she glared at me, as if I’d orchestrated this whole thing just to embarrass her.
My uncle side-eyed my dad. “Give Craig five minutes alone with Charles and he’ll bleed Cardinal-red and gold. I swear, he could get a Bruin into ’SC.”
Manning, seeming to give in to the fact that Tiffany wouldn’t budge, said, “Tiffany’s headed to college this year, too.”
Dad looked over her head and amended, “Community college. Which is fine. It’s how I started out as well.”
“She was just telling us about it,” Roberta said. “And you must be the boyfriend. Madding, was it?”
Manning shook her hand. “It’s Man—”
“Actually,” Tiffany said, her voice an octave too high. She laced her fingers with his almost aggressively. “Not for much longer, right, babe?”
“Uh.” Manning paused, his eyes darting over the ground as if processing her comment. “You mean . . . no, Tiff.” He shook his head. “This isn’t the time.”
“But all of my family’s here,” she whisper-hissed.
“So, Lake,” my uncle started, “where’s the first place you plan to drive your new car?”
Manning and Tiffany were locked in a stare down, seeming to have a silent conversation. Something felt off. “Not for much longer what?” I asked.
Manning looked at me. The concern in his expression made my heart sink before Tiffany even spoke. “Manning won’t be my boyfriend much longer,” she said. “He’ll be my fiancé!”
I stared at her. We all did. As the word fiancé began to take on meaning, I covered my stomach, my gut smarting.
That had to be some inside joke between them I didn’t understand, some mistake. But why say it like that? Why say it at all? To be funny? Or get the attention back on her? Did she just want to ruin my party?
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t true—it couldn’t be.
“Your . . . what?” Dad asked. “What’s she talking about, Manning?”
Manning looked around the circle, pausing when his eyes met mine. He turned his head as if to look away but couldn’t seem to. He swallowed. “Nothing’s official, but yes. It’s what we’ve decided.”
Decided. It was such a cold, un-Tiffany-like word to describe a marriage. It also left no room for doubt. My throat closed. I was pretty sure I hadn’t taken a breath since the conversation had veered into this territory. I tried to inhale, nearly choking, feeling as if hands pressed around my throat.
But I was eighteen now.
Manning and I hadn’t even had a chance to talk since my birthday, and there was no end to the things I wanted to say. The things I wanted to hear.