There are four seats at this table—my father, Karen, me. Jani did but now its empty. She had a nickname—my father called herJay-ni,with the emphasis on the first syllable, which she hated with a passion I only understood later. She had a girlfriend named Molly. No record of it remains in this house.
She was seventeen when Karen found the text messages. I don't know what the messages said. I was never asked. But my father kicked her out the next day.
"Have you been seeing anyone?" Karen asks, cutting through the rosemary-scented silence.
"Not at the moment."
"There must be nice young men at your firm."
"There are nice people everywhere."
"You know what I mean."
I do know what she means. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I keep my hands on the table and my face neutral.
My phone buzzes again.Are you surviving dinner?
I cut another piece of roast and wait a moment before excusing myself.
"Just freshening up," I tell Karen and she nods.
I read the messages in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bath with the tile cold through my jeans. Rhonda has sent more messages.
You don't have to respond right now.
But I'm thinking about you in that dinner and hoping it's not terrible.
I type back, knowing Karen will give me a couple more minutes before she starts wondering.
It's the same as always. Everyone's performing.
That sounds exhausting.
I don’t recommend it.
Is it weird that I wish I were there to make you laugh?
I take a deep breath before typing back.
I would love that.
I can see you laughing. You have this laugh that comes out before you expect it to. I want to create that.
You already do.
Yeah?
Yeah.
Good. I'm going to make you laugh next time I see you.
When are you going to see me?
I am figuring it out.
I wash my hands and gaze at my reflection. The woman looking back is competent and tidy. Karen will accept this. A straight stepdaughter working in a big accounting firm.
I go back to the table and finish the roast and say thank you for dinner. My phone sits warm in my pocket .
