Chapter 3 - Rosa's Hand
I didn't hear Rosa come back at first. I heard her shoes.
They didn't click the way Vanessa's heels did on the marble. Hers were soft, quick. She stopped behind me, close enough that I could smell lemon and clean cotton off her apron. Dad was looking out toward the windows, rubbing at his beard like he did when his phone buzzed in his pocket and he didn't want to answer it.
Rosa's hand brushed my arm. It was fast. She pressed something folded and warm into my palm and closed my fingers over it before Vanessa could see.
It was a napkin. Not one of the stiff rolled ones with the gold rings on the table. A plain white one from the kitchen, folded small into a square. My nose was running and I hadn't even realized it until she gave it to me. I held it tight and wiped under my eyes, trying not to sniffle loud.
"Thank you," I mouthed, without turning around. She gave my shoulder the lightest squeeze.
That was when I really looked at the table. I mean really counted.
I'd been standing there staring at my dad's face and Vanessa's smirk so long I hadn't done the simple thing. I moved my eyes down the glass, past the candelabras and the little flickering flames that weren't needed in daylight, past the water glasses catching the sun.
One. Two. Three.
White plate, rolled napkin, forks lined up perfect. White plate, rolled napkin, forks lined up perfect. White plate, rolled napkin, forks lined up perfect. Then nothing. Just empty glass stretching down toward the kitchen door where Rosa had come from.
My stomach dropped. There were only three plates, and I was the fourth person in the room.
Vanessa saw me counting. She uncrossed her arms just long enough to smooth the front of her black dress, and the diamonds at her throat caught the chandelier light.
"We're expecting company, Elena," she said. Her voice was calm, almost pleasant. That scared me more than if she'd snapped. "A guest from the foundation tower is joining us for lunch. This isn't a family sit-down."
I squeezed Rosa's napkin until my knuckles hurt. I wanted to ask why a guest meant I couldn't eat, why the table that was so long couldn't just get one more plate. Rosa shifted behind me, and I felt her wanting to say it for me.
Dad cleared his throat. He finally looked away from the windows and at me, but not really at my eyes. At the napkin in my hand, at my pink dress.
"It's an important lunch, honey," he said. "For Vanessa's work. We need everything to look just right."
Honey. He said it soft, like it was supposed to help. It didn't. It sounded like the word he used right before he told me no.
Vanessa smiled and recrossed her arms. "See? Daddy understands."
I looked back at the three plates. Three chairs pulled out just a little, ready. All the other gold chairs were pushed in tight, like they weren't invited either. Nobody had forgotten me by accident. Rosa set tables every day. She never miscounted. Someone had told her to set three.
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The tears I'd wiped away came back hotter. I pressed the folded napkin to my mouth so no sound would come out. Rosa stepped a half-step closer, so her apron brushed my back and I wasn't standing alone anymore.
I understood it then, all at once in my chest. There wasn't a missing plate. There just wasn't a place for me.
