My dad turned the knob gently and saw me bent over the toilet bowl just as another wave of nausea overcame me, and I heaved again violently.
“Oh, sweetie…” He knelt down next to me and made sure my hair was tucked behind my ears, patted my back lightly, and comforted me. When I stabilized again, he wet a washcloth and pressed the cool compress to my forehead. “Wait here,” he said, before returning with a glass of cold water.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, wanting to get up and wash out my mouth, feeling better.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, brow furrowed in concern. “Should we call a doctor?”
“No, no…” I shook my head, not wanting anyone to make a fuss. “I’m sure it’s just something I ate. I’m fine, Dad. Really.”
“Alright, if you’re positive…”
“I’m positive. Feeling better already, thanks to you,” I said, giving him a small but hopefully reassuring smile. “I’d like to freshen up a minute on my own before coming back to the dinner table.”
“Of course. Just take it easy there, kiddo. There’s no rush.”
My father patted my shoulder once more, then left and shut the door behind him.
I splashed some more water on my face, then found an extra, unopened toothbrush underneath the sink, which I used to remove the sour taste from my mouth.
Finally, I returned to the table with the water my dad had brought me. My appetite was back, and I got to work on my dinner roll and some butter, which I hadn’t touched yet. Something bland was just what I needed.
Mom’s gaze was distant, looking out the window, glazed over and unfocused. My sisters, however, were both giving me slightly worried looks.
Hadn’t they ever seen someone dealing with a bit of indigestion?
The more I ate of my dinner roll, the less they seemed to worry, and soon their stares were replaced by chit chat and wine glasses being refilled.
Everyone else was nearly finished with their food. Dinner was slowing down, and it would soon be time to leave.
Suddenly, my mother got up from her seat to retrieve another chilled Chardonnay from the wine fridge, then sat down and handed the bottle to my father along with the corkscrew.
“I heard you sent some new clients Nathaniel’s way,” she said, not looking at my dad.
He uncorked the wine and poured my mother a glass, nodding. “Yep. From Singapore. They loved him.”
“He looked so handsome at my birthday party, didn’t he, girls?” She barely gave us a second to register a response before adding, “David, you should invite him around more often. He’s been a bachelor for far too long, don’t you think? Wehaveto set him up with someone.”
My father made a face and shrugged. “Nathaniel is not a domestic man. He lives in the fast lane with work. Travels constantly. He’s very independent; not the settling down type. Having a wife at home isn’t for him. It never has been, for as long as I’ve known him.”
And here I was thinking I had been uncomfortable in the bathroom! Retching? Easy- peasy. This was worse.
My mother shook her head, swirled her glass lazily, then took a drink of wine. “Nonsense. Every great man deserves a good woman to come home to. That includes Nathaniel.” Her wine glass clinked when she set it down on the table. “You know, I’ve been thinking we could fix him up with one of my friends. Patricia? Maybe Carmen! Or Annabelle…” She lifted her glass again and took another sip. “Oh, what about Irene? Yes! They would be perfect together. She’s been single for too long, anyway.”
Oh my God, this is torture.
“If you really want to, dear,” my father said, looking skeptical. “I guess there’s no harm in getting them in the same room together to see if there’s any kind of spark. But I highly doubt that Nathaniel is looking to get into a serious relationship right now. Especially when his career is so busy.”
I had to get out of there. Listening to my parents talk about Nathaniel as if he was someone they could marry off, hearing my mother try to play matchmaker with one of her vacuous friends and set her up with the man I was dating. I couldn’t stand it for even a single second longer.
Melinda had already started scrolling through her phone. She was checked out of dinner, and I saw the perfect opportunity to split.
“Hey, Melinda?” I asked, taking a deep breath and exhaling, trying to remain composed and not wanting to give myself away. “I’m ready to leave when you are.”
“Sure, sis. I’m all done, anyway. Are you ready to go soon too, Larissa?”
“Hang on,” Larissa said, wrinkling her brow. “What about dessert?”
– – –