Imogene, my stoic oldest sister, bursts out into laughter while Chris groans. “Ugh, that means you were probably being gross just down the hall, right? You know what”—he waves his hands in front of his face, shaking his head—“you’re my baby sister and I don’t wanna know.”
“Smart man,” Connie snickers while I try to not die from embarrassment.
Prescott rubs his forehead and sighs. “Look, we’re having a family dinner tonight,” he explains and glances at his watch, “in a couple hours, actually.”
“I know,” I answer, “Mom left me a voicemail.” I still feel kind of bad for not answering her call. It was Dad who was so loud and upset, after all. And while I don’t blame Mom for siding with her partner, I still didn’t feel prepared to talk to her just yet. Then I outwardly cringe as I make the connection. “Did she send you all here to drag me to dinner gagged and bound?” I gasp. “AmIwhat’s for dinner?”
My oldest brother rolls his eyes. “Mom didn’t send us.” He looks around my tiny living room at each of our siblings before landing his gaze on me. “We wanted to come talk to you and apologize. And then ask you to come to dinner.”
“Why?” My voice is quiet, unsure. I admittedly don’t know how to handle my siblings being decent to me all at the same time.
Connie stands and makes her way to where I am floundering in the kitchen. Stepping around Nacho, my sister places her palms on my shoulders. “I know how hard this whole thing has been for you,” she says, “but I don’t think you realize it’s been difficult for us, too. We were raised in the same house as you, but you had vastly different rules than the rest of us. You always felt like Mom and Daddy overlooked you. But the entire time, the rest of us were struggling to survive.”
“Not to mention,” Imogene pipes up, “that they were always pitting us against one another. It made it hard to know who to trust a lot of the time.”
Nodding, I look at my oldest sister. “I knew that. Or, well, I figured.” Worrying my bottom lip, I fold my arms across my chest. “I just always felt leftover, for lack of a better word. You had Prescott to team up with, while Chris and Connie had each other. Mom and Dad have always been a team, so who did that leave for me?”
“Calloway,” Connie brings my attention back to her, “I’m not saying anything we did was right or wrong in the past. But we are sorry we hurt you for so long. And we’d like you to come to dinner tonight. It’d mean a lot to us.”
Imogene shifts in her seat. “Like the start of a new chapter. For all of us.”
“But maybe don’t bring Oliver around just yet,” Prescott grins. “Dad might just have him shot. I mean, are you two planning on actually staying together?”
I nod. “I love him. I … I didn’t even know it was possible, feeling this way about someone. Especially so quickly.” Swallowing, I do my best to keep the tears gathering in my eyes from spilling over.
“Oliver really is a great guy,” Imogene says. “And it’s obvious he loves you, too.” Her soft laughter fills the room. “If you get married and have kids, are you going to tell them the truth about how you got together?”
“We actually haven’t talked about that yet.”
Imogene frowns. “About getting married?”
“No, we’ve talked about that. And kids.” I blush furiously. “I meant about the whole deception part.”
My brothers sitting in my living room look ready to vomit at all this talk about love.
Connie shakes my shoulders, forcing my attention her way. “Calloway, dinner’s in less than two hours. What do you say?”
“Well,” I say, looking back at Connie, “I guess I need to go take a shower.”
“The Beef Wellingtonis really good tonight, Mom.” I offer her the best smile I can around my mouthful. Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous of Goldie’s spaghetti and meatballs substitution since she doesn’t enjoy this meal.
My mother’s tight smile greets me. “Thank you, Calloway.” Her voice is soft, polite.
It makes me want to throw my chair across the room.
In spite of the tension radiating from my parents, this is truly the most comfortable meal I’ve ever had in my parents’ house. It’s amazing what a difference not feeling like your siblings hate you can do. I guess nothing brings a family together like the youngest child enacting a massive gaslight campaign.
The Rutherford family home is warm in that post-Christmas way, with all the professional decorations still in place. But unlike at our residence at Aspen Point, Mom’s returned us to classical music existing softly in the background instead of those old holiday favorites.
Turning to the opposite end of the table, I try again with my other opponent. “Dad, how are the plans coming along for the New Year’s party?”
My father, in his Sunday slacks and sweater vest, sends me a chilly frost from the north. “I’m sure they’re fine. If you’re truly interested, I would ask your mother,” he says, swirling his glass of red. “She has more to do with it than I do.”
“Right, sure,” I nod. “I just remember how excited you were about the potential color scheme.”
Dad humphs without looking up from his plate.
I take the opportunity to stab another broccoli and toss it in my mouth, earning me a grossed out look from my niece.
