Dinner is an elaborate affair. After showering and modeling nearly every item in my suitcase in front of the mirror, I settle on a simple white linen dress with delicate flowers embroidered on the neckline and sleeves. My mother loans me her diamond studs, and I go minimal with the makeup, just a little lip gloss and mascara. Strappy white sandals, for which I painted my toenails a bright coral. I think I look pretty nice. There are tiki torches burning all along the shore, and about a dozen tables with white tablecloths and elegant flowery centerpieces. Most of the adults have gathered at the open bar in the welcome center. My mother is chatting animatedly with René, or maybe Rebekah, and my father, as predicted, has gravitated towards the chief of security, a stocky man in his late forties with dreadlocks and an amiable expression. They appear to be hitting it off. I notice a couple of guys with earplugs and bulges under their sports coats hovering in the background.
