"Enough," Celeste said, as if the entire situation had been caused by my refusal to accept it. "Put on your black dress. We don't have time for this."
I looked at the lavender fabric once more. A few drops had reached the floor. Brielle's empty cup sat on the dresser beside my makeup brushes, innocent now that it had done its work. I reached for a towel, then stopped. I didn't want to rub the stain deeper into the threads. I didn't know what to do, and the fact that I, who could usually solve problems with cloth and a needle, had no answer made my eyes sting.
A car door closed outside. Celeste turned toward the window with visible relief. "Your father's here. Nobody say another word about this."
A moment later I heard Marcus's shoes on the hallway floor. He came into the doorway carrying a white folder with school papers tucked beneath one arm, dressed in a dark burgundy shirt and black trousers. He had promised to leave work early for my graduation, and from the surprise on Celeste's face, I could tell she had expected him to arrive later. He took in the room at a glance: the empty cup, the ruined gown, Brielle's smile fading, and my hands shaking at my sides.
"Naomi," he said, so quietly it frightened me. "What happened?"
For years I had watched him turn to Celeste for an explanation before I had opened my mouth. This time his eyes stayed on me. It was a small difference, but I felt it as distinctly as the cold coffee against my skin.
"Brielle poured coffee on my dress," I said. "I didn't knock anything over. I didn't bump into her. She walked up and poured it."
Celeste stepped between us. "Marcus, please. It's an accident that's gotten completely out of hand. We need to be at the school."
He did not look at her. "Brielle, is that true?"
"I was holding my cup and she moved," Brielle said. "I don't know why everybody is acting like I committed a crime."
"Did you apologize?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, then tilted her chin. "She never lets me apologize because she's always making things bigger than they are."
Dad studied her for a long moment. Then he looked at Celeste. "You saw it happen?"
"I came in afterward," she admitted.
"Then you don't know it was an accident."
The room went quiet. I could hear an air-conditioning vent hum near the ceiling, and beyond the open window, the sound of a neighbor's lawn mower starting. Brielle folded her arms. Celeste's mouth tightened in the familiar shape that usually sent Dad searching for a compromise.