“Don’t worry, Mother,” Penelope says. “In restorative justice, criminals sit in circles and sing ‘Kumbaya’.”
I grit my teeth.
“It’s about accountability. About repairing damage and taking responsibility for your actions.”
Daniel snorts.
“Didn’t know you could major in cuddling.”
“It takes guts to face the person you harmed,” I tell him. “Or the person who harmed you.”
Father’s knife screeches across porcelain, setting my teeth on edge.
“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. What a waste of time and money.”
“I disagree.”
Father scoffs, fists clenching.
“While you’re holding hands with lawbreakers, Ryan is closing deals for his father.”
“Robert must be so proud of his son,” Mother sighs.
I focus on my roast, though I never have an appetite at this table.
“I’m doing more pro bono work this fall,” Penelope announces.
I smile at my sister.
“I’m glad. That’s important.”
“Don’t get sentimental,” she replies flatly. “It’s for my brand.”
I study her, trying to catch even a flicker of empathy. A sign that would show me there’s a human being underneath all that excellence.
“You’re still helping people,” I say quietly.
She ignores me.
“I’m also supervising four residents. I wouldn’t take a single one if it were up to me, but you don’t become department chair without meeting your residency quota.”
Dessert arrives.
Mother leans forward before my spoon even touches the panna cotta.
“Laura Abernathy is looking for a husband.”
I don’t reply. It’s better that way.
Mother’s mouth turns downward.
“Are you still insisting you like men?”
A slap in the face. That’s how it feels, the maternal love provided by Marjorie Stone.
“I’m still being myself,” I finally say, my voice surer than how I feel. Let’s face it—I’ve never been myself around these people.
We finish the dessert in silence.
