The dining room was quiet except for the silver fork scraping against plates. A high, thin shriek that set my back teeth on edge.
My mother dabbed the corner of her lips with a cloth napkin. Not a speck of egg on her face. Never a hair out of place. Beside her, Andrew reached for the coffee pot, his sleeve pulling back just enough to show his heavy gold watch.
I picked up my water glass. Across the table, Julian sat with his shoulder pressed against mine. His thigh was a solid heat against my knee. Underneath the table, out of sight, his thumb rubbed slow, heavy circles into the back of my hand.
Quiet reassurance. A promise.
"You barely touched your plate, Tamara," my mother said, setting her fork down with a deliberate click. Her eyes glided over me. "Is it not to your taste?"
"I'm j
