Chapter 145

My father delivers the news the way he delivers all news he knows I won’t like, which is calmly, over breakfast, while my mother does the thing where she’s very interested in her orange juice.

“This year’s birthday will be a family dinner,” he says in the tone that is not a discussion opener. “Given recent events, a large gathering is too much of a security risk.”

I put my fork down. I pick it up again. I put it down. “It’s my eighteenth birthday,” I say.

“Yes.”

“My eighteenth.”

“I heard you the first time, Lucia.”

“Dad.” I say his name with every ounce of reasonable, measured maturity I have ever possessed, which is being assembled from scratch in real time. “I have been planning this since I was fifteen. The dress is bought. The venue deposit is paid. The invitations went out three weeks ago.”

“We’ll cover the deposit,” he says, and turns a page of his newspaper.

“It’s not about the deposit!”

“Language,” he says mildly, to t