Chapter 2: The Chair They Let Me Keep
The candles didn't go out. That was the strangest part. After Selene said it — "She had that card when she came out of your locked room" — nobody moved, but the flames kept burning straight up, three of them in a row down the runner.
Mr. Balanki's hand was still on the back of my chair. I could feel the heat from his palm through the wood. My feet didn't touch the floor. My pink dress felt too bright under that warm light.
Selene stood with both hands around that little clutch, knuckles pale. Her smile had gone flat. The man in the tuxedo stared down at his water glass like he wanted to disappear into it.
Mr. Balanki didn't answer Selene right away. He didn't look at her either. He looked down at me, and he took a slow breath I could see move his shoulders.
"Lily," he said. His voice was quiet. "Scoot in for me."
I did. The chair legs scraped just a little on the rug. He pushed it in with one hand, careful, until my chest was even with the table edge. Then he reached across me — his tattooed hand passing right in front of my eyes — and he slid the stacked plates over a few inches so they were centered on my spot. He adjusted the water glass so it was at my right, the wine glass a little farther back.
"It's just water tonight," he said to me, not to anyone else. "That okay?"
I nodded. My throat was dry.
He poured from the water pitcher himself. My mom always did that job. But he did it, steady, and set the pitcher back down. "There," he said, like we'd finished some normal thing, like this was just how dinner started.
Selene laughed then, soft and quick. The sound didn't match her face. She lowered herself back into her chair across from us, smoothing her black satin dress over her knees. She kept the clutch on the table to her left, right beside her plate, both hands resting lightly on it so everyone could see it was there.
"Of course," she said, and her voice went sweet in a way that made my ears hurt. "If Mr. Balanki says that chair is yours, sweetheart, then it's yours. We want you to feel included. Don't we?"
She looked at me and smiled with her teeth. Her eyes didn't smile at all. Her diamond earrings caught the candlelight every time she moved her head.
I tried to make myself small even though the chair was big. I tucked my elbows in. I pressed my knees together. My white socks were clean but I curled my toes inside my shoes so no one would look at my feet. I watched the adults breathe. Mr. Balanki breathed slow through his nose, his chest rising evenly. Selene breathed shallow and fast, her collarbone showing in that cowl neck every time she inhaled. The man in the tuxedo held his breath for a second, then let it out all at once.
My mom was still standing by the wall near the doorway where the cool blue hallway light came in. She had her hands clasped so tight her fingers were white. She kept looking at me, then at Mr. Balanki, then at the floor.
"I'm — I'll check the kitchen," she whispered. She started to take a step back, toward the hall.
Mr. Balanki turned his head just enough to look at her. He didn't raise his voice.
"Stay," he said, gentle. "Please. She'll want you here."
It wasn't loud but the whole table heard it. My mom stopped mid-step. Selene's fingers tightened on that clutch for half a second. I saw the little vein in her wrist stand up.
My mom didn't sit. There was no chair for her. She stepped sideways, closer to the drapes, and folded her hands in front of her apron and stayed. She was breathing faster than anyone else, and she kept swallowing. I knew that swallow. It meant she was trying not to cry and trying not to lose her job at the same time.
Selene picked up her water glass with her right hand — her left stayed on the clutch — and took a sip, pinkie lifted.
"Lily, honey, do you like the candles?" she asked me. "We had them lit just for the dinner. Aren't they pretty?"
I nodded again, small.
"You have to be so careful in a dress like that," she went on, her voice still that practiced sweetness. "Tulle catches so easily. I'm sure your mom told you to be careful at a table like this. With the plates."
She said it like she was helping. Like she was being nice about my dress. But the man in the tuxedo looked down quickly, and my cheeks got hot. I pulled my skirt in a little more so none of it touched anything.
Mr. Balanki didn't look at Selene. He picked up his napkin, unfolded it, and set it over my lap without asking. His hand was careful not to touch my dress too much.
"Elbows off is the only rule at this table that matters tonight," he said to me, quiet, like a secret. "You remember that one?"
I remembered. He'd told me once when I ate in the kitchen on a stool. I put my elbows at my sides.
A door somewhere else in the house clicked, and the kitchen staff brought out the first plates — a small salad with greens and thin shaved cheese. They set one down in front of each person, including me. The woman who set mine down didn't look at Selene. She just smiled at me, quick, and left.
Nobody picked up a fork right away. The silence was heavy. Then Mr. Balanki picked up his fork, and we all picked up ours because he did. The scraping was too loud.
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Selene kept her clutch right there beside her plate the whole time. She ate one bite, then set her fork down neatly and rested both hands back on the clutch. She didn't say anything else about the card. She didn't have to. The little light-colored bag sat there like a third person at the table, and every time Mr. Balanki reached for his water, his eyes went to it for just a second before he looked away.
I stared at my greens and tried not to move. My chair was supposed to be mine for the night, but I didn't feel like it was mine yet. I felt like if I breathed wrong, someone would take it back.
