I was the disappointment. I had dropped out of college after two years, worked a series of jobs my family found concerning—barista, retail manager, administrative assistant—and showed up to family events in clothes from Target instead of Neiman Marcus.
Today, I had made the mistake of arriving at the club for Sunday brunch wearing jeans, a casual blazer, and comfortable flats. My parents were already seated at their usual table on the terrace when I walked in. Dad saw me first, and his expression curdled like milk left in the sun.
“Absolutely not,” he said, loudly enough that nearby tables turned to look. “You are not sitting with us dressed like that.”
I stopped a few feet from their table. Mom set down her mimosa and stared at me with open disapproval.
