“Where are you having it?” Trevor asked.
I hesitated. I wasn’t ready to tell them yet. Not until everything was locked in.
“We’ve booked a venue,” I said. “I’ll send details once we finalize everything.”
My mother turned to Ashley too quickly, like she’d been waiting for a reason to shift focus.
“And how are things with you two?” she asked.
Ashley smiled. Launched into a story about their recent trip to Napa. Wine tasting, five-star hotel. Trevor’s parents had paid for it. A birthday gift. I listened to my mother laugh. Watched my father lean in. Ask follow-up questions. Engaged.
Sam caught my eye across the table, raised his eyebrows slightly. A silent question.
I shrugged. We both knew how this worked.
After dinner, people moved to the living room. Coffee? More pie? My father poured bourbon for the men.
Ashley excused herself. “I’ll just check on the dessert plates.”
She was gone for 12 minutes.
When she came back, her eyes were too bright, too focused. She sat down next to Trevor, put her hand on his knee, laughed a little too loudly at something my uncle said.
Driving home that night, Sam said, “Your sister looked hungry.”
“For what?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I don’t think it’s pie.”
I stared out the window. Chicago street lights, holiday decorations, storefronts closing up.
“She’s always wanted what I have,” I said quietly.
Sam glanced at me. “You think she’s going to do something?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
But I did. I just didn’t know how bad it would be.
I should explain something about my family.
Ashley has always been the golden child. Not because she’s smarter or kinder or better. Because she’s successful in the way our parents understand. Money, status, visible achievement.
