He gulped. “The crunchy kind is perfect.” Careful to avoid Jasper’s marauding skewer, Neill began covering cube after cube in cheese, filling his plate with gradually congealing lumps. Lydia stared, aghast.
“That’s what you call a fon-don’t,” Bo whispered. He and Jasper fist-bumped.
Arden smiled at my parents. “This is delicious. You know what it reminds me of?” I wondered which part of the experience she was referring to: The fondue? The uninvited guests? Neill’s gluttony? An eighth-grader in a tux? Her eyes gleamed.“Little Women.”
Everyone with the last name Porter-Malcolm froze.
“Because of the big family,” Arden said into the fraught silence, her smile dimming. “Or ... not. I mean, obviously you’re not all girls.”
“I could be Laurie,” Jasper offered. “The heartthrob next door.”
Mom failed to notice that her youngest child had made a literary reference. “Alcott is a sensitive subject around here,” she said grimly. “I lost a sister to that book.”
Arden blanched. “Like Beth,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her lips. “I am so sorry! I had no idea.”
Jasper snorted into his milk glass. “Aunt Abigail’s still alive and kicking.”
Mom lifted her chin. “It was a question of interpretation.”
“Our aunt is kind of literal,” I explained.
“As opposed toliterary,” added Van.
Jasper tossed a chunk of bread into his mouth. “She’s a reenactor, basically. They have this whole old-timey village, and they live there and pretend to be the Alcotts.”
“The Marches, you mean,” Addie corrected.
He shrugged. “Whatevs.”
“They’ve turned that novel into a tourist attraction.” Our mother quivered with righteous indignation. “Can you imagine?”
“Er, no,” Arden said quickly, though I could tell she’d been doing just that.
“Cousin Jo loves her calico.” Jasper jerked suddenly, then bent to rub his shin. I couldn’t tell which of my sisters had kicked him.
Mom was eviscerating a chunk of bread with her fingers. “Some of us are more serious about literature than others.”
“I’m sure you’re themostserious,” Arden said fervently.
Another silence descended on the table, making it easy to hear the light tapping at the door. Van went instantly alert, setting down her fork. “Come in,” she yelled.
Phoebe floated into the room, pink-cheeked from the cold with an adorable knit hat over her abundant curls. She looked like a magazine ad for ice skating and engagement rings.
“Sorry I’m late.” She offered no excuse beyond a glimpse of her dimples and a wave that took in the table at large. Something about her smile tugged at my memory, but before I could place it a more immediate dilemma presented itself. We were out of chairs. Van kept looking around the room as though additional seating might materialize from the ether.
“She can sit by me,” Neill offered, though he had neither an empty chair nor space to add one.
Addie scraped the tines of her fork across her plate. “Maybe she should take my place.”
Van frowned at her. “How would that help?”
“She obviously brings more to the table than I do.” Addie wasn’t looking at her twin, so she didn’t see the way Van’s entire body tensed.
“Seriously, Addie? What is your problem?”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“Obviously not, which is why Iasked!”
