Masterson

ELIZABETH

THE GLASS OF SHIRAZ I practically inhaled at the house did absolutely nothing to quash my nerves. The muscles in my neck and shoulders start to tense up the moment I step into the restaurant. The delectable scents of meat, garlic, and a hot grill are wafting through the air, making my stomach rumble, and I can hear raucous laughter coming from the back. I'm entering the private room of the upscale Albright Bar & Steakhouse. The place where twenty-five family members I've never met are celebrating my uncle's birthday.

"Nervous?" My aunt asks while gently rubbing my back.

"A little," I admit. Kind of wishing she would stop touching me. It's only making me more rattled.

That and the fact that I'm completely underdressed like I feared I would be. It is crystal clear upon first glance that the people in this room have spent what my app made over the last two months on their outfits. I should have realized what I was dealing with when I took a first look at Juliette's outfit.

She is wearing a cream-colored pair of Armani slacks and a cream boat-necked, silk shell both of which seem to skim the length of her body. Not too tight, not too baggy, and both make her look like a million bucks. Her hair is pulled back in an elegantly smooth ponytail, and she has expertly applied colors from a nude make up palette, which make her glow and her entire outfit look even more polished. Nude leather stilettos finish the ensemble.

I on the other hand am wearing a pair of tight, white skinny jeans, my "dressy" white scoop neck t-shirt, and the only pair of nice wedge sandals I own. All from Target (pronounced Tarjay with an accent thank you very much). The whole outfit probably set me back about fifty bucks, and it's very basic, but it's also probably the most flattering outfit I own. You don't dress up much when you're on the computer all day and night and you're broke. My wardrobe consists mostly of T-shirts and yoga pants.

I've never really known what to do with my massive head of curly hair. I have repeatedly failed at mastering the art of blowing it out or flat ironing it properly. My mother told me the key to a perfect coif was to use the right products, but she offered very little information on what those right products might be for me. Typical of my mom. Direction without substance. So I pull it back in a semi-messy ponytail, like I do most days, and hope no one will think that I didn't at least try.

When I enter the room with Juliette, I immediately hesitate because all eyes focus in my direction and they grow eerily quiet. I'm sure some of the silence is because Juliette has the distinct ability to command attention when she walks into a room, in addition to the fact that I'm the new girl in the family.

"Everyone this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, this is everyone."

I can hear the joy in my aunt's voice when she introduces me. She's genuinely happy that I'm here, and there's definitely something about her exuberance which saddens me, because I totally feel like I'm using her. I can see my mother's, "I told you so" face in my head right now. I should have reached out to my aunt way before I needed something from her. I've lived in this same city for over five years. Whatever her issues are with my father have nothing to do with me.

A somewhat familiar looking, handsome older man, dressed in a crisp white shirt and metal gray suit steps forward. He has a head full of deep wavy dark hair, with a little salt and pepper at the temples that I can tell he must tame using a lot of product. His face is serious but his eyes are wildly expressive with lines that crinkle in the corners. He exudes pure confidence and dominance in the room without appearing arrogant. I deduce that this man must be Juliette's husband. The infamous Uncle Joseph.

"Hi, Elizabeth. I'm Joseph."

The room is deadly silent now. I'm unsure of why. I feel like I'm in the middle of a Godfather movie.