Rachel thought about Nathan’s expensive drafting table. “What’s a bubble kid?”
Faith turned in to a long driveway. “It’s what we used to call people who were born and raised in Oasis Springs. Rich, diverse utopia. None of it’s real.”
“You grew up there.”
Faith shook her head. “We live there. It’s not the same.”
Faith pulled into a half-circle driveway with a derisive nod at the large house owned by Niles’s fiancée. It was a sprawling estate that reminded Rachel of the Vasquez property. The builder had added structural flourishes like Corinthian pillars and elaborate lawn sculptures that would have made the conservative property owners association in Rachel’s neighborhood march with torches. It wasn’t Rachel’s taste, but she respected the sentiment: a middle-finger-up, less isn’t more, it’s just less attitude.
Faith unlatched her seat belt with the keys still in the ignition, but Rachel didn’t move. This wasn’t one of Matt’s campaign events. This was family—her family, even though they felt like strangers. But she wasn’t really an Abbott either. Which meant today she was simply Rachel, unmoored, with no prep or sound bites. It made her feel exposed.
“Let’s get this over with,” Rachel said, and hoped Faith didn’t notice the way her hand trembled as she reached for the door. They both walked slowly, trying to take it all in. There was so much house. Everywhere you looked, there was a sprawl of space lit by the early evening sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The tile was a custom ombré mosaic that gradually changed from burnt orange to gold as they moved closer to the ballroom. Who besides royalty and those Sound of Music kids had an actual ballroom?
“Holy shit,” Faith mumbled beneath her breath.
Rachel looked around and realized that she’d made a huge mistake. Everyone was dressed in costumes—1920s-style outfits that made them look like they’d stepped into East Egg. There were drop waists and fringe, double-breasted suits and long cigarette holders perched on people’s fingers. The centerpieces were plumes of pale pink ostrich feathers mixed with red carnations. An all-Black jazz quartet played in the corner, while a group of women attempted the Charleston in four-inch heels.
“Uh, Mom?” Faith and Rachel exchanged confused glances. “Did Niles say anything to you about costumes?”
“No,” Rachel said, though she wasn’t sure if that was totally accurate. She remembered a brief period of phone tag, followed by an email that she’d skimmed with the RSVP request. “I don’t feel like Tyler Perry’s Chicago is a dress code I would have missed.”
Faith snickered, and the proximity of her daughter, unimpressed with the artifice of opulence as always, eased some of Rachel’s embarrassment. This was supposed to be some sort of post-birth baby shower. She’d brought a Boba wrap and leather diaper bag for Kat.
“You came!”
Their eyes widened as Kat Jones, in a black bob with a white ostrich plume that curved against her cheek, grabbed Rachel’s arms and pulled her into a tight hug. “Niles said you wouldn’t make it, but I told him you’re family! How would you not see the baby?” She stepped back and looked at the present. “Oh, how sweet! What is it?”
“A Boba wrap.”
Kat’s excitement dimmed. “Drop it off on the table by the kitchen,” she said. Her eyes swept over their clothes. “I guess Niles didn’t tell you guys about the theme?” She forced a smile through her obvious annoyance. Kat was a part-time event planner and full-time trust fund diva. In Rachel’s experience, people who planned parties for a living attached an unnatural importance to the uniformity of their vision. She wouldn’t be surprised if Kat had them escorted off the premises at some point.
“He probably did,” Faith said, swiftly going into damage control mode. “School has my brain fried. And Mom’s been really busy lately.”
“With the gala!” Kat squealed. “I can’t believe you’re hosting! When’s the last time a Black person was asked to run that thing? You would think as another woman of color, Sofia would try harder, but she’s all about that old, white money. If you don’t own an island, do not apply.” Kat laughed, even though Rachel was pretty sure Kat’s father owned enough land on an islet off the coast of Virginia to also qualify.
Rachel scanned the room. “So, where’s Serena?”
Kat made a whirling gesture toward the ceiling. “Upstairs with Alesha. I think Niles is hiding from his mother. She brought baby formula and threw away my waist trainer.” Kat rolled her eyes and started venting about milk production and baby weight. When she mentioned eating raw placenta, Faith gulped back a gag. Thankfully Rachel’s phone vibrated.