Brooke’s fiancé, Daniel, looked from the plate to Brooke with a dawning horror that told me he had no idea what kind of house he was standing in—or what kind of family he was about to marry into. Good. Let him learn it properly.
My mother tried again.
“Ava insisted on staying back there tonight,” she said. “She gets overwhelmed. She’s been difficult since I left.”
Ava was standing just inside the doorway now, frozen, one hand gripping the ripped seam at her shoulder as if she could hold herself together by force. I crossed the room, took her gently by the wrist, and led her to the head of the table. Then I set Noah down in the chair beside her.
“Sit,” I told them.
She looked terrified to obey. I pulled the chair out myself and waited until she sat. Noah curled against her automatically, like he had learned to make himself small in rooms that did not welcome him.
Across the table, my mother looked furious, not ashamed. Public exposure was the one thing she had never learned to survive with grace.
“Tell me,” I said to Ava, my voice calm enough that the whole room leaned in, “when did they move you out of our room?”