The Distance Between Us

brain around what just happened. Xander thinks I’m rich. He thinks I come from a rich family. This is why his dad had no problem with me once he found out my name and his brothers act like I am their equal. A sob escapes and I muffle it with my hand.
    “Rich boys are stupid,” I say, forcing myself to get angry because I can’t afford to be hurt right now. I still have to get home with my dignity.
    I start to leave the bathroom and almost get a door to the nose when it flies open so fast I’m barely able to step out of the way.
    “Sorry,” the girl says, rushing past me. She turns on the sink and starts scrubbing at a spot on her white button-up shirt. When I notice her black skirt I realize she must be on the waitstaff. She looks close to tears.
    “Are you okay?”
    “I just got red wine splashed on my shirt and I don’t think it’s going to come out.” She scrubs harder then reaches for the soap dispenser. “My boss will make me go home.”
    “Wait. Don’t use soap. Here, I have something.” I reach into my purse and pull out a little bottle of peroxide solution. We don’t get a lot of stains on the dolls in our store, but every once in a while a little kid with sticky hands or a coffee drinker will do some damage. This solution is a miracle worker. I dab some on her shirt and then blot it with a cloth towel from the counter. “See, look at that. Magic.”
    She inspects it and then pulls me into a hug. Probably realizing she shouldn’t maul guests, she pushes away from me with a red face. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . Thank you so much.”
    “It’s just a bottle of stain remover.”
    “Well, I appreciate it.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    She looks down at her clean shirt one last time. “I better get back.”
    “You better.”
    She leaves and I lean against the tiled wall. Her “crisis” distracted me for a moment, but it didn’t erase what is waiting outside the door.
    I have to get out of here. I can’t face Xander when I tell him the truth. I head back to the ballroom and nearly trip over a lady with a headset in the hall holding a clipboard.
    I start to walk around her but then stop. “Are you the event planner?”
    She smiles like she is obviously trained to do to guests, but I see the obvious signs of stress behind her eyes. She probably thinks I have a complaint. “Yes, can I help you?”
    “Xander Spence said my grandparents are here and I can’t find them. Could you tell me which table they’re sitting at? Meyers.” I point to her clipboard as if she doesn’t know where the seating arrangements are located.
    “Of course.” She flips through the pages, runs her fingers over a sheet, and then says, “Ah. Here they are. Table thirty. I’ll point it out to you.”
    “Thank you.”
    It feels like I’m walking underwater. My legs move in slow motion; my head pounds with pressure. Once inside I back up against the nearest wall and she follows suit.
    “They’re right there. She’s in the turquoise top. Do you see her?”
    I follow the line of her finger to the lady in turquoise. “Yes. There she is. Thanks.”
    “No problem.” The event planner walks off quickly, probably responding to the tiny voice I heard yelling in her ear.
    Their backs are to me, but the woman in turquoise has shoulder-length dark hair and the man next to her, a distinguished silver. I stay on the edge of the room and walk slowly around, waiting for the moment when I will see their faces. I finally do. I wait to get hit with instant recognition, with a feeling, but nothing happens. A small amount of weight lifts from my shoulders.
    The woman looks up and we lock eyes. She gets the look on her face that adds the weight plus another two tons of it back on: recognition. Her mouth forms the word “Susan.” I can see that all the way across the room where I stand. My face burns to see my mom’s name on her lips.
    Mrs. Dalton wasn’t confused. These Meyers are my grandparents.
    The woman grabs on to her husband’s forearm and he looks at her in confusion. I don’t wait to see how that plays out. I spin on my heel to make a beeline for the door—but run straight into Xander’s chest.
    “There you are. The appetizers just arrived at the table. It’s caviar and crackers with some sort of Greek salad. Do you like caviar?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve never had it before.” What he had said earlier today about my mom being extreme and the “living-above-the-doll-store thing” hits me. He