I grimace. I completely forgot that he’d been putting out feelers on my behalf. “I haven’t heard anything about it, Dad. Sorry.”
He wags his finger at me. “They’re calling. You just make sure you’re ready.”
I still have a job. But there’s no need to remind him of that little fact. It’ll only make me look ungrateful. “Will do, Dad.”
“Hello?” comes a soft voice from the hall. “Mom?”
Jill brightens at the sound of her daughter’s voice. “Molly, we’re in the dining room!”
I take a long drink from my glass as the click of heels gets closer, bracing myself, but there’s not enough room in this glass to drown out the feelings of inadequacy that overwhelm me in my stepsister’s presence, and when Molly enters the dining room, I immediately feel like a forgotten part of the scenery.
“How was your flight?” Jill asks, wrapping her daughter in a hug.
“Don’t smother the girl, Jill,” Dad says. “She’s been cooped up on a plane. She needs some space.”
“I’m fine,” Molly tells Dad. She wraps her arms around Jill and squeezes. “It was good.” When she turns her attention on me, her smile is tentative, and I feel a pang of guilt. Molly hasn’t come home much in the last five years, but I haven’t done my part in keeping in touch either. “Hi, Ava. How are you?”
“Great.” I hoist my glass of wine.
Molly chuckles softly. “I could use one of those too.”
“Jill, pour the girl some wine,” Dad says.
Jill obeys, and Molly takes the glass with the reverence of someone taking sacrament.
Molly is everything I’m not. She’s brave and adventurous. She’s blond to my dark and bold to my cautious. I know saying that my father always loved her more makes me sound like the whiny little girl who wanted her father’s attention all for herself. But sometimes even the ugly things we feel are true, and Dad’s affection for Molly always outranked and overpowered his affection for me.
“Have a seat,” Jill says. “I’ll get dinner from the kitchen.”
“Grab another bottle of the ’79 from the fridge while you’re at it,” Dad calls after her, taking his seat at the end of the table.
“May I help, Jill?” I ask.
Molly and I nearly collide, simultaneously filing behind Jill toward the kitchen.
“Girls, sit,” Jill says sternly. “You’re my guests.” She flashes a glance toward my father, who’s seated at the end of the table scrolling through something on his phone. For the first time since I’ve known her, I detect a hint of resentment from her toward my father. Good for you, Jill.
“Sit,” she says again, and Molly and I obey, taking seats across from each other and sipping at our wine in the awkward silence.
“Still teaching?” Molly asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Still in New York?”
She nods. “Yep.”
It takes Jill a couple of trips to get everything on the table. She tucks a couple more bottles of wine into the bucket of ice, then brings out a big bowl of salad and a platter beautifully arranged with breaded chicken breasts and roasted potatoes.
“This looks delicious,” I say.
“I’m starving,” Molly says. “Thank you, Mom.”
Jill beams, and we fill our plates and pass food around the table.
“Molly, what’s your announcement?” Dad asks when our plates are full. “We can’t wait to hear your good news.” He waves toward me. “Maybe it’ll inspire Ava to do something with her life.”
“I have a great life, Dad,” I say.
“Of course you do,” Jill says with a smile, then a scowl toward my oblivious father.