I stood up so fast my chair scraped hard against the floor.

I don’t know what I meant to do — leave, or say something, or simply not sit there one more second being the punchline at two hundred people’s tables.

But Otis put his hand on my arm.

His small fingers were cool against my skin.

“It’s okay, Mom,” he said quietly.

And then my son stood up, and walked toward the center of the room.