The party was to celebrate my boyfriend Chris's high school graduation, no occasion for rejoicing as far as I was concerned. As usual, the Melvilles had gone overboard for their one and only son, putting up a big white tent in their overly landscaped backyard and having the food catered by Biscuit, the hot new restaurant in Iowa City.
I'd already been forced to talk to the high school principal, two Spanish teachers, and Chris's next-door neighbors; my smile was sagging like Custer's mustache. All anybody could come up with to say to me was, "Just think, Robin, next year you'll be graduating!" Whoopee. Sure couldn't wait for my...