Chapter 13 - Why the three sisters were kneeling
The ballroom scene was not a maternal contest.
Nobody had arranged:
Choose your mother.
It was a family tradition.
A ridiculous one.
Every year, during the Ashford Foundation Ball, the youngest child in the family was brought out before the official photograph.
Three aunts would kneel.
The child ran to whichever one he preferred.
Everyone laughed.
Photographer got candid shots.
The family newsletter used one.
Luke had done it at age three.
Celeste ran to Margot.
Margot apparently cried because Luke chose a waiter instead.
Family lore.
That year Noah was the youngest.
Luke’s son.
The room knew that.
Most guests had been told only:
His mother requested privacy and does not participate in public Ashford events.
No lie that Vivian was his mother.
Still a lie of omission large enough to hide a person wearing a white apron ten yards away.
Vivian had asked me three days earlier:
“You don’t need to work the ballroom.”
I said:
“I’m scheduled.”
“I can move you.”
“Why?”
She looked away.
Because she knew.
Not that Noah would call me Mom.
That he might choose me.
I realized it.
“You’re afraid he’ll run to me.”
“He’s two.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re making this emotional.”
“He is my child.”
“Then don’t put him in a confusing position.”
I almost laughed.
The entire arrangement was a confusing position.
I worked the ballroom anyway.
Partly pride.
May you like
Partly stupidity.
Partly because I was tired of disappearing.
