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My mother turns from the stove, her eyes hazel lighting up. She brushes off her aprons and hurries toward me.
“There you are, Chickadee,” she greets me warmly. She hugs me hard, kissing my cheek. When she pulls back, there are tears in her eyes. “It’s been too long since I’ve last laid eyes on you.”
I pat her cheek. “You look good, Mom.” My gaze slides around the kitchen and dining room. “Shouldn’t the cook be doing your job?”
My mother flushes as she steps back, shaking her head. She heads back to the stove. “Esmerelda was let go a couple of weeks back. Your father caught her and the new maid stealing.” She clucks her tongue as she pulls oven mitts on. “I mean, can you believe the nerve of some people?”
My father usually discovers that his housemaids are treacherous once per season; it happened so often during my childhood that I could almost time it down to the week. I feel bad for the servants who are hired here, to put it bluntly.
“Well. It smells good in here,” I say, changing the subject.
My mother blushes and smiles at me. “Thank you, Chickadee. We should be ready to eat soon.”
Slipping my backpack off, I carry it over to the bar where my sister is sitting. I set my stuff on the ground and slide into a seat.
“How is school going, Hazel?” I ask politely.
She doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Better than it did for you, I assume.”
I squint at her words. She’s almost certainly a worse student than I was. Ballet academies don’t screw around when it comes to grades. Mine was no different.
“Girls, be nice,” my mother says. “Hazel, we only have Kaia here once a month. Let’s keep it civil.”
Hazel looks up at me and sticks out her tongue. I flip her the bird and she immediately tells on me. “Mom! Kaia just told me to go fuck myself!”
“I swear, you two,” Mom says, whirling around. “Quit it, both of you.”
My dad’s steps suddenly break the tension, sounding like thunder coming down the stairs. I bite my lip. Hazel smirks.
My mother tucks her hair behind her ear nervously. We all turn toward the doorway, waiting. Three little arrows, primed and quivering, just waiting for him to release us.
Eventually he stalks into the room, muttering angrily. Tall, blond, and heavyset, my father is dressed in khakis and a white polo. He rakes his hand through his thinning hair and glances at the three of us.
“That was the fourth call I’ve gotten that was pre-recorded JUNK!” he declares. “I’ve told you time and time again, Serena. You sign up for these…” He makes a gesture. “These lists and then I’m left getting my fucking phone called twenty times a day! It’s fucking ridiculous!”
My mother doesn’t even blink at the accusation in his tone. “They are the worst. I’m sorry, honey.”
My father hikes his belt up, shaking his head. “I’m not dealing with that shit anymore, Serena. You can’t expose us like that.”
My mother nods, as if he’s giving her sage advice. Before his barb even lands, he’s already swinging his gaze around to Hazel and me. “Why are you dressed so casually, Kaia? In this house, we have a dress code.”
I struggle to keep my feelings off my face. “I didn’t know, Dad. I’m sorry.”
He takes a couple steps closer. “Your sister and your mother are wearing skirts. I expect you to dress up like a woman when you want to come to dinner here.”
This is entirely new since the last time I visited, just over a month ago. I swallow, bobbing my head. “Yes, sir.”
My mother hastily turns to us with a platter of roast chicken and vegetables clutched between two potholders. “Why don’t we sit down and eat?”
My father gives me a look as I stand up, shaking his head on the way to the formal dining room table. The table is long and glossy, laid with an extensive place setting for each of us, undoubtedly my mother’s doing. Dad sits at the head of the table and my mom hurries to set the chicken down in front of him. Hazel and I take our places across from each other as he clears his throat and starts to carve.
My mom rushes back to the kitchen, retrieving several more dishes. My dad serves himself first, then Hazel. My mom sets a perfectly poured pint of beer at his place, then scurries to her seat.
My dad takes a bite of his food, seeming to forget that my mother and I are yet to be served. I stand and move to grab the platter of food. My dad growls at me, his mouth still full.
“Manners, Kaia!”
Hazel smirks at me, picking up her fork and putting a piece of chicken in her mouth. It takes my father another minute to serve me and my mom tiny portions of chicken and vegetables.
