Chapter 15 - Sit Down at the Long Table
The chandelier was on again even though daylight was still coming through the windows. That was the first thing I noticed when Dad led me back into the dining room. The crystals threw little squares of light down onto the long glass table, and I could see the city stacked up white and gray behind Rosa's shoulder. Everything was in the same place. The white plates. The rolled napkins with the gold rings. The tall candelabras that were not lit yet.
Vanessa was already seated in her chair with her arms crossed. Black dress. Diamond necklace. Same smirk from that first afternoon, except it didn't look as sure. Dad was standing where he had stood before, in his black suit, his beard a little untrimmed. Rosa stood back by the sideboard in her black uniform with the white collar and apron, her hands folded.
The only thing different was the fourth plate.
I had counted them from the doorway. One, two, three, and then mine at the end near Dad's side. Rosa had put it there that morning while Vanessa was on the phone. She had set it slow and straight and she had looked at me and nodded once.
My pink clip was pinching a little. I reached up and fixed it. My lace dress itched at the neck. I didn't pull at it.
Dad put his hand light on my back. Not pushing. Just there. "You ready?" he whispered.
I nodded. My throat felt tight. I had practiced the words in the bathroom mirror until they sounded normal and not crybaby. I walked forward until I was standing by the empty space, where the gold chair was pushed in tight under the table.
Vanessa watched me come. She uncrossed her arms and then crossed them again. "Daniel," she said. Her voice was flat. "We're really doing this."
Dad didn't answer her right away. He looked at me. "Go ahead, Elena."
I swallowed. The chandelier buzzed faintly above us. A glass clinked somewhere when the air moved. I looked at the plate, then at her, then back at Dad because looking straight at her made my eyes sting.
"Can I sit here, please?" I said. My voice came out smaller than I wanted. I made myself say the rest. "For dinner. With you."
Nobody moved for a second. Rosa's hands tightened in front of her apron. Vanessa's mouth twitched. The smirk slipped sideways and then was gone. She stared at the fourth plate like it had shown up dirty.
"She eats in the kitchen when we have a proper table," Vanessa said. "That's how we've done it. That's normal."
"No," Dad said. His voice wasn't loud. "That's how we've done it when people come over."
He stepped forward and pulled out the gold chair for me. The legs scraped soft on the floor. He held it steady with one hand on the curved back. The ornate top caught the daylight. I remembered all the times I had stood and watched other people sit in those chairs. My hands were shaking a little.
I sat down. The seat was high and my feet didn't quite touch right. I put my hands in my lap and pressed my lace skirt flat. Dad pushed the chair in just a little, careful, like he was afraid to bump me.
Vanessa let out a breath through her nose. She glanced toward the windows, toward Rosa, then back at Dad. "So I either smile for this or I'm the villain."
"You don't have to smile," Dad said. "You just have to let her stay."
For a moment I thought she would get up. Her shoulders lifted. Her fingers dug into her arms. Then she dropped her hands to the table and laid them on either side of her plate. No crossed arms. No smirk. Her mouth was just a straight line, and her necklace moved when she breathed.
"Fine," she said. "Sit. Eat."
It wasn't warm. But she stayed. She didn't leave the table to make a point. She stayed in her chair and looked at me, and I looked back without looking down at the floor.
Rosa moved then. She picked up the serving bowl from the sideboard and came around the table. She didn't go to Vanessa first like she always did. She came to me first. She set a spoonful of rice on my white plate, then chicken, careful not to spill. Her sleeve brushed my shoulder.
"Here you go, mija," she said quietly.
My eyes burned. I blinked fast and looked at the steam coming up off my plate. Nobody had ever served me first at that long table.
Dad sat down in his chair next to mine. He didn't pick up his napkin. He turned his body toward me and put both his hands flat on the glass.
"Elena," he said. "I'm sorry I moved you out last time. And the times before that. You asked to stay and I should have let you stay. This is your dad's house too. This is your table too."
I nodded because I couldn't get a whole sentence out. "Okay," I whispered.
He reached over and tucked a curl back behind my ear, away from my pink clip. His hand was warm. "Okay?" he asked again, softer.
"Okay," I said, a little stronger.
Vanessa picked up her glass and put it down again without drinking. The diamond on her neck caught the chandelier light. She didn't smirk. She just watched us, and then she unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap.
May you like
Rosa went back around and served Vanessa and Dad. The room was quiet except for the soft clink of the spoon against the bowl and the far hum of the city outside. I picked up my fork. It felt heavy and grown-up in my hand.
I was seated at the long table. Belonging.
