My sister’s son hurled a dinner fork at me and declared, “Mom says you’re basically the help.” The table erupted in laughter. I was gone before dessert ever reached the plates.

Uncle Robert cleared his throat the way men do when they’re trying to pretend they weren’t part of the problem.

“Well,” he said, voice too loud in the silence, “that explains a few things.”

“Robert,” my mother hissed without looking at him.

“What?” he asked defensively, palms up. “I’m just saying, I always wondered how you got this place after that business mess, Marcus.”

Marcus’s face flushed, the color rising up his neck.

He sat very still, jaw tight, eyes fixed on his plate like it was suddenly fascinating.

Jennifer—my cousin Jennifer, who always wore her boredom like jewelry—had stopped scrolling. Her phone sat face-down on the table, abandoned. She looked at me like I’d just spoken in a language she didn’t know existed.

My mother’s hands were clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles pale. She kept blinking, like if she blinked enough the truth might rearrange itself into something easier.

Jessica sat with her shoulders rounded, exhausted in a way I’d never seen her. Her performance armor was gone, and without it she looked like a person who had finally had to meet herself.

Then Marcus spoke, quiet and hoarse.

“I owe you an apology too, Nina,” he said.

Everyone turned toward him.