Mom stepped closer.
“Sarah, that’s not fair.
Of course we asked about school.”
“You asked what it cost.”
Nobody answered.
The crowd moved around us in bright fragments of color.
Parents called graduates over for photographs.
Someone nearby popped open a tube of confetti and immediately got scolded by an usher.
Dad cleared his throat.
“Well, whatever happened before, we’re proud of you.”
Before.
As if the things he’d said ten minutes earlier had already become ancient history.
I held the glass award against my gown.
“You called me a loser during my graduation.”
His eyes flicked toward the people around us.
“I was joking.”
“You whispered it to Mom.”
“Exactly.
It was private.”
That answer told me more than an apology would have.
He wasn’t sorry he’d said it.
He was embarrassed that I’d heard it.
Mom touched his arm.
“David.”
He exhaled and tried again.
“Fine.
It was a stupid comment.
But you have to understand, Sarah, from our perspective we’ve spent years worrying about you.”
“Worrying about what?”
“Whether this degree was going anywhere.”
I glanced at Marcus.
He looked away.
“You didn’t worry about Marcus’s degree going anywhere,” I said.
Dad frowned.
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
He opened his mouth and stopped.
Mom stepped in immediately.
“This isn’t the place.
Today is supposed to be happy.”
I almost laughed.
For years, any family dinner had been considered the perfect place to question my choices.
Any holiday was an acceptable place for Marcus to joke about my coffee-shop job.
Any tuition payment was an acceptable reason for Dad to remind me how much I cost.
But now that I had an answer, suddenly the setting mattered.
Dr.
Hendricks appeared beside me before I had to respond.
“Sarah, the department photographers are ready when you are.”
Then she looked at my family.
“You must be the Thompsons.”
Dad straightened.
“David Thompson.
Sarah’s father.”
His voice had changed completely.
Proud.
Important.
