“Congratulations,” he adds, gesturing to her.
Sisk swallows, then forces a polite smile. “Been dancing my whole life. Glad it paid off.”
Mom sips her wine. There’s a quick, buried nod of approval. Like Sisk just passed a test she didn’t even know she was taking.
“Anne was quite the dancer herself,” my father adds, tipping his glass toward my mother.
Mom’s gaze sharpens. “You exaggerate.”
“If it weren’t for the injury,” he says lightly, “she might’ve gone professional. And what about you, Jaxwell?” he continues, his eyes sliding to me. “Any clearer plans yet? Medicine still not calling your name?”
I keep my face neutral, a blank fucking canvas. “No.”
He hums, a sound that’s pure condescension. “Shame. With your resources, your grades… one would hope something decisive might emerge.” A clean punch, wrapped in a smile.
Mom sets her glass down with a soft click. “Jax doesn’t need to rush,” she says smoothly, her voice a velvet curtain. “He’s exactly where he should be. There’s no prize for leaving home early.” Her hand settles briefly on my arm.
Dad lifts his glass. “Of course.”
Mom turns back to Sisk, her smile reset to default. “So,” she says, “have you chosen your dress for the Formal?”
“Oh—is that this weekend already?” Dad asks, like he just remembered.
“Yes,” Mom replies, barely hiding the sigh of a long-suffering martyr. She turns to me, her fingers tightening slightly on my sleeve. “I had your clothes pressed. Everything’s ready.” She looks back at Sisk. “Will you be meeting here, or will Jax pick you up? I’d love a photograph in the foyer.”
Sisk opens her mouth.I know that look: she’s about to say something real, something that’ll shatter this whole glass house.I tap my foot lightly against hers under the table.
She swallows it. “Yes,” she says, smoothing her napkin. “A photo sounds great.”
The tension dips for a breath. Right on cue, Oliver reappears with the second course—pistachio-dusted lamb, served with lavender foam and something unrecognizable but plated like art.
Sisk watches it land in front of her like someone just dropped a human heart on her tray at school lunch.She looks horrified.She picks up her knife slowly, her hand steady, and cuts a piece of the lamb. Then, casual—too casual, maybe—she tilts her head and asks, “You two… went to St. Clair High too, right? Jax told me you met there?”
“Yes. We were sweethearts. Quite the storybook match, apparently.” Dad answers, as he takes a slow bite.
Mom lifts her wineglass again, her eyes still glued to her plate.
Sisk continues, her voice light as a feather. “And you two… went to college, then came back here?”
Mom sets her glass down. “Daniel went off to study medicine,” she says dryly. “Left me here with this one to raise.”She glances at me. “Not all by myself—I had help. But… he barely saw Jax those years.”
Dad lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You talk like I didn’t care about this family and went on a vacation,” he says. “I was working. Studying. I had three jobs during clinicals.”
“But you weren’t here,” Mom says. “That was the point.”
Sisk glances between them, but she doesn’t flinch. She simply watches, taking it all in.
Mom continues. “But yes. We stayed, because the St. Clair family has a responsibility to this city. Right, hon?”
Dad nods, his jaw tight enough to crack walnuts. “Right.”
Sisk shifts in her chair. “So you stayed together after graduation. Wow. That’s… some serious commitment, you were so young.”
I resist the urge to say anything.
“We were married at eighteen,” Mom says.
Dad adds, “Same age Jax is now.”
