Chapter 3
The birthday celebration went on.
But all the planned opening speeches, my toast to Dad, and the future son-in-law's statement were completely overshadowed by Emily's tears.
I sat back down in the spare chair the server had brought in.
The chair rocked a bit, its legs not quite even.
Charles finally seemed to remember I was there and asked across Emily, "Why aren't you eating?"
I looked at him.
"Do you remember what you're supposed to do today?" I asked.
He frowned. "Of course, I do. It's Mr. Winters' birthday," he replied.
Emily's shoulders trembled slightly.
"Chuck, please don't argue with Sophie because of me," she said softly.
Charles immediately withdrew his gaze.
"I'm not arguing with her," he replied.
He placed the peeled shrimp onto Emily's plate, but his words were clearly meant for me.
"There are a lot of people here today. Don't be difficult," he said.
I couldn't help but find it funny.
Ever since he arrived, I wasn't the one who took someone else's seat, who messed up the birthday celebration, or who made the whole table of relatives laugh.
But somehow, Charles still acted like I was the problem.
My mom reached for my hand under the table and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Her hand felt cool to the touch.
I gently squeezed her hand in return.
"Mom, I'm fine," I said quietly.
My voice was soft, but Charles still heard me.
He looked up at me, as if he was about to say something.
Right then, the hotel manager rolled over a small cart.
On top sat a polished wooden gift box.
When my mom spotted the box, her expression shifted slightly.
That was the gift she'd picked out for Charles.
Originally, after I finished my toast, Mom was supposed to hand the box to Charles in front of everyone.
Inside the gift box were a cash gift and a Supply Chain Partnership Agreement, a sign that our Winters family was officially welcoming him into their circle.
The restaurant manager, unaware of the shift in the atmosphere, smiled and asked, "Mrs. Winters, should we bring out the gift box now?"
Before my mom could answer, Emily quickly stood up to take the box.
"Mrs. Winters, let me get that for you," she said.
She moved fast, clearly wanting everyone to see how mature and considerate she was.
When she took the wooden box in her hands, several relatives at the table glanced over.
My mom's hand froze mid-air.
Emily hugged the gift box to her chest, glancing around at everyone with a lost expression. "Did I take the wrong thing?" she asked.
Charles also turned to my mom.
"Mrs. Winters, who is this for?" he asked.
My mom's smile faded until it was barely there.
"It was originally meant for you," she answered.
Originally.
As soon as those words left her lips, Charles's expression changed.
Emily clutched the gift box awkwardly, unsure whether to set it down or keep holding it.
She lowered her gaze to the golden word "Gift" on the lid, tears welling up in her eyes again.
"Mrs. Winters, I'm sorry. I didn't know this was for Chuck," she sobbed.
Mom didn't respond to her, reaching out her hand.
"Give it to me," she said.
Emily quickly handed the gift box over.
But she was so flustered that her fingers caught on the clasp.
The wooden box wobbled in mid-air, and the lid slid open.
The cash gift and document folder tumbled out. There was a thick stack of them, with a pale blue document underneath.
The cash landed on the table, and the document slid to a stop right in front of Charles.
He glanced down at the document.
I caught the flicker of shock in his eyes.
It was the Supply Chain Partnership Agreement from Winters Group.
Although it was a copy, the company letterhead and official seal were plain as day.
Ryan Schmidt, Dad's close friend, sitting at the table, caught sight of it, too.
He chuckled, trying to smooth things over. "Rick, are you seriously doing business deals at your birthday celebration?"
Dad didn't take the bait.
He picked up his water glass, took a sip, and set it down, the glass making a soft clink against the table.
Charles's fingers rested on the edge of the document.
He looked at me, and there was finally a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
"Sophie, what is this..." he started, unsure.
I kept silent.
Mom gathered up the cash, put it into an envelope, took over the document, tucked them back into the gift box, and snapped the lid shut.
"I was going to give this to you later, but with everyone watching, let's hold off for now," she said.
Mom set the gift box down by her feet.
Her movements were subtle, but the message couldn't be clearer.
Charles's expression froze.
Emily sat off to the side, looking terrified as if she'd seen a ghost, keeping her head down for a long time.
After a few seconds, she whispered, "Is Mrs. Winters upset because of me?"
No one said a word.
She got more flustered.
"Chuck, I swear I didn't mean it. Maybe I should leave," Emily whispered.
She tried to stand up again.
Charles instantly grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Stay still."
His voice turned low and serious as he continued, "I brought you here for a meal. You don't have to be so on edge."
Dad finally set down his water glass.
"Of course, she could stay for the meal," he said.
He looked at Charles, his tone giving nothing away.
"But next time, let us know about your plans in advance. This is a family banquet, not a random dinner," he added.
Charles straightened up a bit.
"I should've thought things through. I do apologize, Mr. Winters," he said.
That was the first real apology he'd made.
My dad nodded with a grunt.
He didn't say anything else.
However, that grunt made Charles's face fall. He felt more embarrassed than he'd been outright scolded.
My dad had never treated him this way before.
Whenever Charles came over to our house, my dad always called him "Chuck" dearly.
He would say, "Chuck, don't work yourself to death.
"Chuck, come play a game of chess with me.
"Chuck, Sophie can be a bit hot-tempered sometimes. Be patient with her."
But today, ever since Charles walked in, my dad didn't call him "Chuck" once.
The birthday celebration moved on to the next phase.
On stage, the emcee started inviting someone from each table to share their birthday wishes.
I'd put together a few words, typed out in my phone's notes.
It was full of memories, such as back when my dad used to carry me to school on his back, my mom secretly helped my dad quit smoking, and how they had raised me so I never had to deal with anyone's crap.
And at the end, I wrote something extra: [Someday, I'll bring someone home, and we'll look after you together.]
But now, I didn't touch my phone.