Joel let out an awkward laugh. "That's right—forty-nine. Still got a month to go. Anyway, you all chat. I'll get started on the food."
"See?" My mother swept a hand toward his retreating back. "That's the kind of man you want—hardworking, no games, no nonsense."
She gave me a shove. "Go on. Help Joel in the kitchen."
Through the haze clouding my vision, I caught it—the faintest curl of satisfaction at the corner of my mother's lips.
The color drained from my face. My feet might as well have been nailed to the floor. I couldn't move. I wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
Grace couldn't sit still any longer. She shot to her feet.
"Vivian, a child's marriage isn't something to treat lightly. As parents, we have a responsibility to make sure it's right."
"Irene graduated from a top university. She could have her pick of anyone. Why on earth would you set her up with—"
My mother cut her off without a shred of hesitation. "This is our family's business. Besides, Irene agreed to it herself."
My mother's hand found the small of my back where no one could see, and she twisted the skin—hard.