“Yes. Luna and I will be there. And we’re sitting at the main table.”
On Christmas morning, I packed a blue folder containing the recorded deed, payment statements, the suspicious quitclaim document, and a letter from Patricia.
I also packed Luna’s noise-canceling headphones.
Llegamos a la casa de mis padres alrededor de las dos.
Luna llevaba un plato de galletas de azúcar caseras decoradas para parecerse a diferentes fases de la luna.
My mother opened the door.
She looked exhausted.
Apparently, she’d managed to buy a last-minute ham.
I stepped inside and immediately noticed the dining room.
Six chairs.
Six place cards.
Mom.
Dad.
Ainsley.
Su prometido, Brooks.
And his parents, Charles and Marian Pemberton.
There were no places for Luna or me.
En cambio, la sala de desayunos contenía dos platos de papel y vasos de plástico.
Luna looked at them.
Then she quietly took my hand.
