The silence in the dining room smelled of furniture polish and the lemon verbena hand soap Valerie kept by the sink.
“I need to know if you are coming,” I said.
“Of course we want to go,” Valerie said, her hand moving to adjust her sunglasses again. “But we have a business to run now, Clara. You have to be flexible.”
I picked up the invitation and placed it back in my leather bag. The silver foil felt cold against my palm. Beside it lay the blue loan agreement for my final semester, still waiting for a co-signer signature.
“Is Dad downstairs?” I asked.
“He is packing the inventory,” Valerie said, her fingers typing a rapid sequence on her keyboard. “We have sixty boxes of linen shirts to ship before the weekend.”
I zipped my bag, the brass teeth of the zipper catching for a second on the strap. I stood by the door for a moment, waiting to see if she would ask about my final exams, but she only clicked another link on the cruise website.
At eight o’clock, the garage door rolled up with a heavy metal rattle that shook the kitchen window.
My father, David, was standing by the trunk of his sedan, lifting a box of printed packing tape. He tapped his index finger against his leather belt buckle as I walked out onto the concrete of the driveway.
“Dad,” I said.
“Clara,” he said.
“Did you confirm the hotel booking for the graduation weekend?”
David set the box on the bumper. He did not look at me, focusing instead on a small tear in the cardboard.
“No,” he said.
“The rates go up after Friday,” I said. “The university block is almost full.”
He tapped his belt buckle again, three quick beats.
“Calendar,” he said.
“You need to check it?”
“Yes.”
