It was practical.
But sliding that folder into my bag felt more significant than any argument I had ever won in that house.
I was still packing when the front door opened.
Laughter came first.
Leo was telling some story loudly enough that Dad laughed before the door had even closed.
Mom told someone to be careful with a dessert container.
Marla giggled.
Then the voices stopped.
My suitcase was visible from the hallway.
Leo appeared first.
“What are you doing?”
I folded another shirt.
“Packing.”
“For what?”
“Seattle.”
He stared at me as if I had announced that I was moving to another planet.
Mom pushed past him.
“What do you mean, Seattle?”
“There’s a project there.
My friend is leaving tomorrow.
I’m going with her.”
Dad walked in more slowly.
Marla stayed behind everyone, holding the dessert box against her chest.
Nobody asked what the project was.
Nobody asked whether I was excited.
Mom’s first question was, “For how long?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Her face tightened.
“You can’t just decide something like that overnight.”
I looked at her.
“Apparently I can.”
Leo scoffed.
“This is because of dinner? Seriously?”
There it was.
The first reduction.
Months of being moved out of my room became dinner.
Being left with everyone’s chores became dinner.
The hidden WhatsApp group became dinner.
The Facebook post became dinner.
Being told to apologize because Marla cried became dinner.
Mom rubbed her forehead.
“Xena, I told you not to overthink this.
Nobody was trying to hurt you.”
“You told me you were going to be late.”
“We were late.”
“You told me Leo and Marla were busy.”
She didn’t answer.
“They were busy,” I continued.
“Having dinner with you.”
Dad finally spoke.
“Your mother was trying to avoid a fight.”
I looked at him.
“So everybody knew except me?”
His mouth closed.
That was an answer.
Marla stepped forward.
