Victoria stepped out first. Champagne-colored sundress, oversized sunglasses, hair pinned back in a way that suggested she’d been “effortless” on purpose. Paige followed in a white linen set and designer slides, already filming something on her phone, panning across my front porch like she was giving a tour.
Then my father emerged from the passenger side.
That part made my stomach tighten.
He looked smaller than I remembered, and older. His shoulders were slumped, tie loosened even though it was Saturday. He wasn’t dressed for a beach weekend. He was dressed like he’d been dragged out of a decision he didn’t make.
I walked downstairs, opened the front door, and stepped onto the porch.
Victoria beamed like we were welcoming her into a vacation rental. “There she is,” she said brightly. “Our girl.”
I held my mug steady. “Victoria.”
Paige waved without looking up. “Hey.”
My father’s eyes met mine. They were tired, apologetic. “Bonnie,” he began, voice careful, “Victoria told me you invited us—”
“I didn’t,” I said.
Victoria’s smile didn’t flicker. “Oh, Gerald, don’t start,” she said, still facing me. “Bonnie’s been stressed. New house, big commitment. She’ll calm down once we’re settled.”