Several people had looked at me with the kind of gentle sympathy usually reserved for recovering addicts or the recently divorced.
It was during the dancing portion that the real drama began.
I’d stepped onto the terrace for some air when I overheard a conversation that would change everything.
Patricia’s mother was speaking with Marcus near the bar, her voice sharp with concern.
“Marcus, I need to ask you something directly,” she’d said. “Is Emma financially stable? I don’t mean to pry, but Patricia mentioned she might want Emma to be godmother to your children. And given her circumstances…”
“Emma? God knows, she’s been struggling for years,” Marcus had laughed. “She’s sweet, but she can barely take care of herself. She’s been working the same grocery store job for, what, 7 years now? Never got promoted, never tried anything else. I think she’s just not built for ambition, you know?”
Mrs. Whitfield had looked relieved.
“I was concerned about the influence. Not that there’s anything wrong with her work, of course, but Patricia comes from a family of achievers. Her father built his company from nothing. Her brother just made 50 million on his startup. We want our grandchildren to have the right kind of role models.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Marcus had said. “Emma’s basically the family charity case at this point. Mom sends her money for rent sometimes. We all chip in for her car payments. She means well, but she’s just not capable of more than she’s doing now.”
That wasn’t true.
I’d never asked for or received financial help from anyone in my family. But apparently, that was the story they told themselves to make sense of my deliberately modest lifestyle choices.
I’d been about to head back inside when I heard Dererick’s voice from around the corner, talking to some of Patricia’s relatives.
“Did you see Emma’s car in the parking lot?” he was saying. “It’s like 15 years old. I actually felt embarrassed for her when the valet had to figure out how to start it. Marcus mentioned she’s been using food stamps.”
“I thought it’s just sad,” another voice had replied. One of Patricia’s cousins.
“The whole family is successful except her,” Dererick had continued. “My mom thinks she might have some kind of learning disability that was never diagnosed. How else do you explain someone working the same entry-level job for 7 years?”
“At least she seems happy,” the cousin had said charitably.
“I guess ignorance is bliss,” Dererick had replied. “She has no idea how far behind she’s fallen.”
I’d heard enough.
I’d pulled out my phone and sent a text to David, my head of security.
Ready for pickup.