Rory
and Owen always headed straight home. They knew their father would be making them something scrumptious for lunch, and that
both he and their mom would be there. It was practically like Christmas morning.
This particular half day, Dad had gone all out with churro French toast, fresh whipped cream, and cinnamon-sugar apples as
a nod to “healthy eating.” He’d even made bacon in the oven, just the way he knew the whole family liked it. It was sunny
and just warm enough to eat on the patio, so the family was sitting around the outdoor table bundled in sweaters, chowing
down as red and orange leaves tumbled from the trees that lined the yard. It was heavenly.
“So Molly broke up with JT and started going out with Christian, and right away JT asked out Shannon, but she said no because he’s already gone out with, like, everyone in the ninth grade,” Owen was explaining, dousing his plate with Vermont maple syrup.
“Wow. I don’t remember ninth grade having so many flying hormones,” Rory’s mom joked, sitting back with her mug of steaming
coffee.
“Are you kidding? When I was a freshman, Layla had a new boyfriend every week, remember?” Rory said.
“How could we forget? We had to break up a fight at your birthday party that year because she forgot to cancel on the one
before inviting the other,” her dad said with a chuckle.
“I don’t remember that,” Mom said, brow knit.
“I think you were directing Wicked that year,” Rory said.
“Oh, right! That was when Pearl made you that crown with the pink and green stars!”
“I still plan on wearing that for Halloween next year,” Rory told her. Seniors got to wear costumes to school, and there was
a huge contest with titles like “Most Creative” and “Best Group.” The squad had already assigned cast roles, and Rory was
going to be Glinda. Everyone thought Gwen was the natural choice, but she—interestingly enough—insisted she wanted to be a
flying monkey.
Rory speared an apple with her fork and bit into it. Juicy, cinnamon goodness exploded over her tongue.
“Ooooh, right! I’ll have to dig up Glinda’s gown, and we’ll get it altered,” her mother said with a wink. There were benefits to having a mom whose job involved a costume closet.
“So what else is going on?” her dad asked, refilling Owen’s water glass from the carafe.
“Don’t forget I have homecoming a week from Saturday,” Rory said, sipping her coffee. “The game is Saturday afternoon and
the dance is that night. And then we have regionals the next day. They’re at the community college this year, so it’ll be
easy for you to come.”
“Wait, already? Is homecoming always this early?” her mother asked.
A stiff breeze blew a few paper napkins off the table, and her dad jumped up to retrieve them.
“It’s actually late this year,” Rory said, her heart twisting. She’d told her parents to hold the date about a zillion times.
It was on the family calendar app. “Remember we had this whole conversation about my dress and the weather? I bought that
fake-fur stole?”
“Oh, right!” Her mom’s eyes lit up with recognition. “I do love the dress you picked out. Good idea going with the red.”
“Thank you,” Rory said. Her mom hadn’t been able to come dress shopping, but Gwen’s mother had taken them all to the boutiques
downtown over the summer when she was home on leave from the military. Rory had texted her mom photos from the dressing room,
and the whole cast had voted for the red. “Anyway, you’re both gonna be there, right? At the game?”
She watched her mom and dad exchange a long look. The longer it lasted, the further her heart sank into her stomach. No way. There was no way they were going to back out on her now. She’d made sure they had it on their calendars months ago.
“Well, that’ll be restaurant week, kiddo,” her father said with a grimace, cutting into a new slice of French toast. “I’m
probably going to need to be in the kitchen all day.”
“And we have matinees,” her mom put in. “It’s opening weekend.”
“You can’t miss one of them?” Rory demanded, hating how whiny her voice sounded. She turned to her father. “And you have a staff of like a dozen people! They can’t cover for you for a few hours?”
“They’re all already going to be working. It’s the busiest weekend of the year for us,” her father explained patiently, his
brown eyes sincere. “I’m really sorry, but it’s just bad timing.”
Thick tears welled up behind Rory’s eyes and clogged her throat. She dropped back in her chair, her arms across her chest,
staring down at her half-eaten plate of food and trying so very hard not to cry. Her mother had yet to say anything, but Rory
knew what was coming.
“And I just don’t feel comfortable leaving my cast and crew when the production is still so new.”
Rory scoffed and shook her head, still refusing to look at either of them. How could she ever have thought things would be different this time?
“But you feel comfortable leaving me. On one of the most important days of my high school career,” she said finally, glaring at her mom.
“Oh, come on, honey. You’re only a junior. There’s always next year.”
“I’m nominated for homecoming queen this year,” Rory countered. “And I’m one of the first juniors ever to be nominated, by the way. Who knows if I’ll even get nominated
next year?”
It wasn’t lost on her that her nomination had to be at least partially due to her being Tucker’s girlfriend. Captain of the
winning varsity soccer team, one of the most popular, sought-after guys at school—Tucker made her shinier and more interesting
just by holding her hand in the hallway. She wasn’t always sure whether she liked it, but it was true. There were probably
even some senior girls who had voted for her because Tucker was her boyfriend.
“I’m sorry, Rory. We just—”
“This is ridiculous!” Owen shouted out of nowhere. He had been silent this whole time, but now he was standing over the table,
cheeks red. “She’s been talking about this for weeks and weeks and weeks! Nonstop! It’s, like, all I ever hear about! How
could you people have forgotten?”
For half a second, they were all stunned into silence. Owen never shouted, let alone made a scene.
“Owen! Sit down,” their father said in his no-nonsense voice. “It’s inappropriate to yell at your parents like that.”
Owen, stony-faced, landed hard on his chair. Rory wanted to kiss him, she was so grateful.
“Okay,” she said as calmly as she could, “what about regionals? Are you coming to that?” The competition started Sunday morning—surely
no one could have a scheduling conflict then.
But she was answered with silence.
Rory wondered why she kept setting herself up for disappointment. Before either one of her parents could formulate excuses
or apologize again, she got up from the table, shoved her chair back in with a clatter, and walked inside the house.