Sunday family dinner at the Dre mansion was its own kind of performance art. The dining room could seat twenty, but usually it was just Salma, Austin, Clara, and Nina. Today, it was the four of them plus Jenny, who'd been invited by Nina specifically.
Salma had made empanadas, rice, a complicated seafood dish that Austin's father used to love. The table was set with actual napkins, actual silverware. It mattered to her, these dinners. They were her way of holding the family together.
"So how's university?" Jenny asked Clara, reaching for a roll.
"It's good," Clara said. "Lots of work. I've been organizing events for the business school."
"That sounds boring," Nina said.
"It is a little," Clara admitted. "But it's good experience."
"Did anything exciting happen?" Salma asked, pouring water.
Clara hesitated, and Austin could see the weight of the Victoria Chen situation pressing down on her—how it had made her doubt her own worth, how easily a cruel word could undermine everything she'd accomplished.
"There was this girl," Clara started, and Austin could hear the careful way she was selecting her words. "Victoria Chen. She was kind of mean about the event. Made some comments about how nobody important would show up, how it was all pedestrian..."
Nina made a face. "That's awful."
"It was," Clara said quietly. "And I kind of believed her for a moment. Like maybe I was wasting my time."
"What changed your mind?" Salma asked, setting down her fork.
Austin watched Clara's expression shift slightly. "Austin came. He showed up and introduced me to someone important, and he spent time at the event, and it made me feel like what I was doing actually mattered."
"Of course it matters," Nina said forcefully. She was fourteen, small, but there was something fierce in her. "You organized an entire event by yourself. That's amazing. Who cares what that Victoria girl thinks?"
"You're right," Clara said, and Austin could see her sitting up straighter, the damage from Victoria's words beginning to repair itself through her sister's validation.
"You know what?" Nina said. "We should do something about her. Like, in a nice way. But like, make her realize how lame she is."
"That's not very mature," Clara said, but she was smiling.
"Neither is being mean to people who are trying to do good things," Nina shot back. "At least my way has a point."
Salma was watching this exchange with the expression mothers get when they see their children learning to stand up for each other. She looked at Austin and smiled—that special smile that suggested she knew something about him that she didn't quite understand but trusted anyway.
After dinner, Austin found himself alone in the kitchen with his mother while Clara and Nina cleared the table and Jenny disappeared into the living room to watch television.
"You're different," Salma said, wrapping leftovers in foil.
"Different how?" Austin asked, leaning against the counter.
"Happier," she said. "More present. I used to worry about you, you know. You were always so distant, like you were somewhere else even when you were right in front of me."
"I'm sorry about that," Austin said.
"Don't be," Salma said, turning to face him. "I'm just glad you're here now. Whatever changed, I'm grateful for it."
She hugged him, and Austin held her longer than usual, breathing in the scent of her—familiar, maternal, real. He wondered how much longer he'd be able to do this. How many more family dinners before the secret became impossible to keep?