It is beautiful, Olivia, she said. It is far too nice for a dinner where you will be ignored.
I just want to keep the peace, I said.
That is the problem, Erin said, tapping her fingernails against the sideboard. You always try to keep the peace, and they always find a way to make you feel like you are the one who broke it.
I sat down on the stool opposite her, wrapping my hands around my glass.
I have this strange feeling, I said. An unexplained dread about Saturday night. It is like there is a conversation already happening that I am not part of.
There is always a conversation happening that you are not part of, Erin said, her voice turning dry. That is how your family operates.
I know, I said. But this feels different. Melissa has been unusually quiet lately. Usually, she has called me three times by now to complain about the seating arrangements or the menu.
Maybe she is finally busy running her shop, Erin said. Though from what I hear, the foot traffic on Newbury Street is miserable this season.
I looked at the invitation again, the silver letters gleaming under the pendant light.
I just want to get through the evening without any drama, I said.
Erin stopped tapping her nails and looked at me.
Just protect yourself, Olivia, she said. You spent three years building a boundary between your job and their nonsense. Do not let them pull you back in.
My father’s accounting office always smelled of old paper and the lemon wax he used on his desk.
He did not look up when I walked in at two on Wednesday afternoon, his pen moving down a column of figures in his ledger.
The office was on the second floor of a small brick building in Newton, the windows looking out over a small parking lot.
I set the velvet box on the corner of the dark wood.
