Kiera stared at the lasagna. The tantalizing smell of basil, tomatoes, and garlic filled her nose. Melty mozzarella, creamy ricotta, and glistening noodles were stacked, layer upon layer, to perfection.
Kiera squeezed her fingernails into her palms as hard as she could—willing the tears in her eyes to go away.
Stupid lasagna.
Meanwhile, her mom and dad and little brother were scooping enormous portions onto their plates as if everything were totally fine. It was like aliens had landed in the backyard and her family’s response was to just . . . eat. Their new neighbors, Ron and Anna, looked so pleased with themselves for putting together this little welcome meal. They’d even lit a candle and set out a vase of freshly cut flowers.
“Kiera, I heard lasagna is your favorite,” Ron said. “It happens to be mine too. Maybe we could swap recipes sometime.”
Swap recipes?
That was the last straw.