Page 49 of Healing Eleanor

“Edward,” I say, stepping forward as he pulls me in for an awkward side hug. It’s shorter and less dramatic than the one he gives Scarlett. I stiffen slightly. His cologne smells expensive, the kind that lingers too long, like his expectations.

“You look good,” he says, pulling back to look at me. “The dress suits you.”

“Thanks. It was all I had.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask. He never does when it comes to things that actually matter. But it’s enough to capture Moms attention.

Her eyes scan me, looking up and down, analyzing every inch of my physique. “You actually do look good Eleanor.” She crosses her arms, eyes narrowing. “The bottom is a bit tight, but you don’t look horrible.” That’s probably the best compliment I’ve ever gotten out of her.

Mom, Edward, and Scarlett stare at me, and my cheeks grow hot. “Thanks. I’ve lost some weight.”

Scarlett studies me, her expression softening.

Mom dips her chin and walks past us. “Mae’s finishing dinner,” she calls over her shoulder, already disappearing into the sitting room. “Eleanor, you can help her set the table.”

Of course I can.

I follow the smell of roasted vegetables and rosemary chicken into the kitchen. The space is just as I remember: sleek, sterile, and expensive beyond belief. There are quartz countertops, gold-accented fixtures, and not a fingerprint in sight. It belongs inside of a magazine, not a home.

Mae stands at the island, plating roasted carrots and wiping away any imperfections on the plate. She wears a crisp white apron, and her silver hair is twisted into a neat bun. Her eyes lift when I enter, and her face softens with the kind of warmth I never get from my own mother.

“Eleanor,” she greets kindly. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” I say, offering a small smile. “You look great, Mae.”

She waves me off. “No flattery here, my girl. Can you grab the silverware from the side drawer?”

I move to the drawer and grab forks, spoons, and knives.

“How have you been?” she asks lightly as she begins arranging the chicken on a porcelain platter.

I try to hide a wince. “Just keeping busy… Working at Forma and auditioning when I can.” I hope that’s enough information to move her attention elsewhere.

She knew the Eleanor who danced for the Metropolitan. The girl who had purpose, direction, and certainty. Not this version. Not the girl sitting in the back seat, pretending she’s still moving forward when most days she’s just trying not to fall apart. I don’t want to say that I’m far more busy unraveling than anything else.

She nods, but I can tell she knows I’m withholding information. Even though I’ve only met her twice, Mae has an eye for detail. Thankfully she doesn’t push. This night is already weird enough.

I lay out the silverware in neat bundles. Forks, knives, spoons. Left, right, top. I can practically hear Mom in my head correcting the placement, even though it’s perfect.

“You’ve lost weight,” Mae voices softly after a beat.

My hands freeze as my eyes find hers. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t say it like Mom does. Though there’s no judgment in her voice, there’s also no praise. Just observation. Her eyes are kind, but I still feel like she sees through me.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she announces, turning back to the oven. “Why don’t you light the candles on the table?”

I nod, grab a lighter from the drawer, and make my way into the dining room. The long oak table is already set with placemats and wine glasses. Everything looks perfect. Just like the people who will sit around it. Except for me. I don’t fit into their version of ‘family’. There’s nothing I can do to earn a seat here.

The flames set a glow softly across the table, desperately making me want to hide in the shadows. I adjust one of the napkins, then another, even though they’re already placed. I just need to do something with my hands.

My family laughs behind me. Mom’s sharp and clipped and Scarlett’s bright and cheery. Edward’s voice follows, low and smooth, the kind of voice that fills rooms without ever raising. The golden children. The ones who belong.

I straighten as their footsteps approach, spine stiff like a soldier’s. Because afterall, I might as well be gearing up for battle.

“Oh, it looks lovely,” Scarlett says, sliding into a seat across from Mom. “Eleanor, did you set the table?”

I shake my head. “Just lit the candles.”