Loisa practically screamed laughing. Nash and Lyle clapped each other like it was a roast battle.
And me?
I picked up their dirty plates. I washed them one by one. I stared out the window at the neighbor’s lemon tree, blooming.
They think this is the end. But they haven’t seen what I look like when I stop begging to belong.
---
That night, when the laughter died and the wine ran out and the house went still, I crept into the living room. I stood there staring at it again.
The portrait. Massive. Hung dead-center in the sala like a crown jewel.
Lester made a whole production out of placing it there. Right above the console table. Right where no one could miss it. Where guests would pause and admire the happy family and say, “What a beautiful household you have.”
A lie, printed in high gloss.
I didn’t even hear Edmund come in until he was behind me.
“What, jealous again?” His voice always sounded rougher when he was bored. “You stare at that thing like it’s gonna cry for you.”
I didn’t answer. What was the point?