Eleni chooses this moment to bang her sippy cup on the high chair tray. Breaking the tension. Demanding attention the way toddlers do.
“Well,” Sofia says briskly, standing up to collect plates, “we should send Dom a thank you card. From Winston.”
“Absolutely not,” I say.
“Paw print signature,” Nikko suggests.
“I hate all of you.”
“You love us,” Alex corrects. Her hand finds mine again under the table. Squeezes. “And we’re going to help you maintain this absolutely ridiculous lie because that’s what family does.”
“Also because it’s hilarious,” Nikko adds.
“Also that,” Alex agrees.
“So.” Dimitri pulls his phone back out. “What should we tell Dom next? We need to keep the story straight.”
“You’re making notes?”
“Someone has to.” He’s typing already. “Winston. Wiener dog. Brown. Purebred. Just arrived. What else?”
“He’s very energetic,” Alex supplies. “Keeps Dad active.”
“Loves walks,” my mom adds. She’s really getting into this now.
“Barks at the mailman,” Sofia contributes.
“Sleeps in Dad’s bed,” Maya throws in.
“Oh my God,” I mutter. “We’re really doing this.”
“We’re really doing this,” Dimitri confirms. He looks up from his phone. Meets my eyes. That serious look now. The father look. “Your real father would laugh at this, I think. Robert had a good sense of humor.”
My throat closes again.
“He did,” my mom agrees quietly. “He would think this was absurd. And he’d help you keep the lie going because he’d want you to keep your job.”
“Even though the job is terrible,” I whisper.
“Especially because the job is terrible.” Dimitri sets his phone down. “You need the money. You need the experience. You need the reference for after the bar. So if Dom wants to believe your father is alive and has a wiener dog, then your father is alive and has a wiener dog.”
“And we’ll all remember Winston’s milestones,” Sofia adds. “His birthday. His first vet visit. Whatever you need.”
“This family is insane,” I say.
“This family loves you,” Dimitri corrects. He reaches across the table. Takes my hand. His grip is warm. Strong. “Your father—your real father—would want you to know you have us. Always. Dead dogs, live dogs, fake dogs, whatever.”
I can’t speak. Can only nod.
Alex’s thumb traces my palm under the table. Our silent language.
Translation:See? This is why we can’t tell them. They’d do anything for us. Even die.
I squeeze back. Translation:I know.
“Now.” Dimitri releases my hand. Picks up his phone again. “When is Winston’s birthday? We should be consistent.”
“November,” Alex says immediately. “He’s a Scorpio. Like Dylan.”
