My dad’s sixtieth birthday invitation said, “Black tie only—dress properly or don’t come.” Then Mom called and whispered, “Your sister’s boyfriend is a senator’s son. We can’t have you embarrassing us.”

“I’m his daughter.”

“And we love you,” she said quickly, as if that softened anything. “But this is a formal event. Your father has worked hard for his reputation.”

There it was.

Reputation.

The god my family had worshipped for as long as I could remember.

“So you don’t want me there.”

“We don’t want you embarrassed.”

I almost laughed.

“No, Mom. You don’t continue reading …