Chapter fourteen

Evelyn’s POV

The aroma of roasted garlic chicken and fresh herbs filled my kitchen as I pulled the casserole dish from the oven. Golden light from the pendant lamps above the island bathed the granite countertops in a warm glow. I had spent the afternoon preparing everything carefully—mashed potatoes with a hint of truffle oil, crisp green beans almondine, and a fresh salad with strawberries and goat cheese. A bottle of chilled white wine sat breathing on the counter next to three elegant glasses. I wanted tonight to feel normal. Warm. Like the sister dinners we used to have before everything started feeling… off. I wiped my hands on my apron and glanced at the clock. 6:45 PM. They would arrive soon. I had changed into a soft cream blouse and tailored black pants, hair falling in loose waves around my shoulders. Simple but put-together. The perfect hostess, as always.

The doorbell rang at exactly seven. I smoothed my blouse and opened the door with a bright smile. Claire stood on the porch first, holding two bottles of red wine. She looked beautiful in a deep blue top that brought out her eyes, but there were faint shadows beneath them. She stepped forward and hugged me tightly, her familiar perfume wrapping around me.

      “You look great,” she said, pulling back with a smile that seemed a touch too wide. “The house smells amazing.”

     “Thank you. Come in.” I took one of the wine bottles from her as Lila’s car pulled into the driveway behind her.

Lila stepped out wearing a soft cream sweater and jeans, her long hair loose and slightly wavy. She looked young and fresh-faced, but her movements seemed careful, almost hesitant as she walked up the path carrying a small box of chocolates.

      “Hey, you two,” Lila said, joining us at the door. She hugged me next, her embrace warm but brief. “I brought dessert. Dark chocolate sea salt. Your favorite.”

I ushered them both inside, closing the door behind us. The three of us moved into the dining room together. The table was already set with my best plates, cloth napkins, and a small vase of fresh flowers in the center. Soft music played from the living room speakers—gentle piano melodies.

     “Everything looks beautiful, Evelyn,” Claire said, setting the wine down on the sideboard. She ran her fingers lightly along the back of one chair. “You always make it feel so special.”

We opened the wine and poured glasses for each of us. I watched them closely as we settled around the table. Claire took the seat to my right, Lila across from me. Their body language interested me—Claire sat a little straighter than usual, fingers occasionally tapping the stem of her wine glass. Lila kept smoothing her sweater, smiling but avoiding prolonged eye contact. I served the food, spooning generous portions onto each plate. The chicken was perfectly juicy, the potatoes creamy. Steam rose gently from the dishes as we began eating.

      “So,” I started after a few bites, keeping my voice light, “how have you both been? Really.”

Claire took a sip of wine before answering. 

     “Work’s been busy. The usual deadlines. Nothing too exciting.” 

She cut a piece of chicken, her knife scraping softly against the plate.

      “How about you, Lila? How’s the new boyfriend situation?”

Lila’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. She set it down carefully and took a small sip of water. 

       “It’s… new. He’s nice. Makes me laugh.” 

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

     “We’re taking things slow. I don’t want to rush anything.”

I studied her face—the slight flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers played with the edge of her napkin. 

      “That’s good. You deserve someone who treats you well. What does he do?”

Lila hesitated, spearing a green bean. 

      “He works in business. Travels sometimes. We met through mutual friends at an event.” 

She took another bite, chewing slowly.

       “It’s nothing serious yet. Just… fun.”

Claire nodded, but I noticed how her hand tightened slightly around her wine glass. 

      “Fun is good,” she said. “As long as you’re being careful.”

The conversation flowed to safer topics—Mom’s garden, Dad’s latest golf story, a funny video Lila had seen online. We laughed at the right moments. Passed the salad bowl around. Refilled wine glasses. But underneath the surface, something felt strained. Like we were all performing. I stood to clear the main course plates, carrying them to the kitchen. The clink of dishes filled the quiet space. From the doorway, I could see my sisters talking softly at the table. Claire leaned toward Lila, saying something I couldn’t quite hear. Lila nodded, touching Claire’s arm briefly. When I returned with dessert—Lila’s chocolates and a simple berry tart I had made—they both smiled gratefully.

      “This looks incredible,” Lila said, taking a small piece of tart. She savored it slowly, eyes closing for a moment. “You’re such a good cook, Evelyn.”

Claire took a chocolate and broke it in half, the dark pieces snapping cleanly. 

      “She always has been. Remember when we tried to bake cookies as kids and burned them?”

We laughed together, the memory bringing a genuine warmth. For a few minutes, it felt real. The three of us sharing stories, teasing each other gently, the way we used to. I watched their faces in the soft candlelight—Claire’s careful expressions, Lila’s occasional faraway look. After dessert, we moved to the living room with fresh glasses of wine. I curled up in the armchair while my sisters took the couch. The music had switched to something softer, more melancholic.

      “I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” I said quietly, swirling the wine in my glass. “About us. How we used to tell each other everything. No secrets.”

Claire shifted on the couch, crossing her legs. 

     “We still do, don’t we?”

I met her eyes directly.

     “Do we?”

The question hung in the air. Lila looked down at her hands. Claire held my gaze but didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched, filled only by the piano music and the distant ticking of the clock on the mantel.

Lila spoke first, her voice soft. “Sometimes keeping things to yourself feels safer. Not because you don’t trust your sisters, but because you don’t want to hurt them.”

Claire nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

I took a slow sip of wine, letting the rich flavor sit on my tongue. My heart felt heavy.

      “I just want us to be honest with each other. Whatever’s going on… we can face it together.”

The three of us sat there for a long time, the conversation drifting back to lighter subjects, but the weight of unspoken truths remained. We hugged goodbye at the door later that evening, promising to do it again soon.

After they left, I stood alone in the quiet house, the leftover scent of dinner still lingering. I cleared the last few glasses, rinsing them slowly under warm water. My reflection in the dark kitchen window looked tired. Something was wrong with my sisters. With my marriage, with all of us. And I was starting to believe I was the only one still fighting to hold it together.