For the next hour, I did exactly what Camille expected.
I moved around the room making sure everyone was comfortable.
I checked whether the staff had enough supplies.
I found an appropriate chair for one of Dad’s older friends.
I helped Ruth remove her coat and fastened the white rose corsage around her wrist.
I adjusted a candle that had shifted.
I reminded the musicians to avoid a particular song that always made Mom emotional.
I solved one small problem after another.
Nobody asked whether I’d eaten.
Nobody offered me a seat.
And nobody seemed to notice that I was the person keeping the evening running smoothly.
At seven-thirty, Camille tapped her champagne glass.
The room gradually fell silent.
She stood beside Mom and Dad, smiling as though she were about to deliver a speech at an awards ceremony.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she began.
The guests applauded.
“When I decided to arrange this celebration for our wonderful parents, I knew it had to be extraordinary.”
More applause.
She went on to describe the beautiful room she’d supposedly selected.
The flowers she’d allegedly chosen.
The decorations she’d personally arranged.
Every detail she mentioned was something I had researched, purchased, or organized.
At one point, she claimed she’d selected the restaurant because it reminded her of the place where Dad proposed to Mom.
That wasn’t even true.
Dad had proposed at a casual restaurant near Route 35.
I’d selected Alderwood because of the lovely story Daniel had told me about the couple celebrating fifty years of marriage.
But Camille continued speaking confidently.
When she finally raised her glass, everyone joined her.
“To Mom and Dad! Forty wonderful years!”
The room erupted in applause.
I was standing near the entrance holding a tray of extra napkins.
Mom wiped tears from her eyes.
Then she took Camille’s hand.
