Dinner was a battlefield disguised as a meal.
Silverware clinked against fine china. Waiters moved like ghosts, refilling wine glasses.
Elise sat next to Damian. His leg was pressed against hers under the table. The contact was grounding.
Jill sat opposite them, next to Conrad. She was working the old man, laughing at his jokes, pouring his tea.
"Grandpa Conrad," Jill cooed. "You must tell us about your collection. I heard you acquired a new piece?"
"Indeed," Conrad said. "A Ming vase."
"Fascinating," Jill said. She glanced at Elise. "Elise, didn't you break a vase once? At the museum field trip?"
Elise cut her steak. "I was seven, Jill. And it was a replica."
"Still," Jill sighed. "You were always so... clumsy. Remember when you tried to learn piano? The teacher quit after two lessons because you drew on the keys with Sharpie."
Arthur Nelson groaned. "Jill, please. Not at the table."
"I'm just reminiscing, Uncle Arthur," Jill said. "It's funny now. Elise was always more interested in... other things. Like boys."
Eleanor Vincent, Damian's mother, looked at Elise over her glasses. "Speaking of interests, Elise. What are your plans now? Are you going back to that... fashion school?"
Elise put down her fork. She wiped her mouth with the linen napkin.
"Actually, Mrs. Vincent," Elise said. "I'm re-applying to Juilliard."
Silence.
Absolute, dead silence.
Then, Jill snorted. She covered her mouth, but the laugh escaped.
"Juilliard?" Jill choked out. "For what? Janitorial services?"
Even Arthur looked pained. "Elise... honey... let's be realistic."
"I'm serious," Elise said. "Violin performance."
Conrad slammed his hand on the table. "Enough! This is a mockery. The girl has no talent. We all know it. Why do you indulge this delusion, Damian?"
Damian stiffened. He opened his mouth to defend her, but Elise squeezed his hand under the table. She drew a circle on his palm with her finger.
Trust me.
"Talent is subjective, Grandpa," Elise said calmly. "But dedication isn't."
"Dedication?" Conrad scoffed. "You've never finished a thing in your life."
The waiters cleared the plates. Dessert was served.
"Well," Jill said, standing up. "Since we're talking about talent and appreciation... I have a gift for you, Grandpa Conrad. For your birthday next week."
She signaled an assistant. A wooden box was brought forward.
Jill opened it with a flourish.
Inside sat a jade cicada. It was ancient, the stone milky and green.
"Song Dynasty," Jill announced. "It symbolizes rebirth and immortality. I won it at Christie's last week."
Conrad's eyes lit up. He reached out and touched the jade. "Magnificent. Truly magnificent, Jill. You have a good eye."
Elise smirked internally. That cicada was beautiful, but she knew for a fact it was paid for using an emergency line of credit from the Nelson family's art foundation-a fund Jill wasn't authorized to touch. Another nail for her cousin's coffin.
"Thank you," Jill beamed. She looked at Elise. "It cost a fortune, but family is worth it."
Irma leaned forward. "And what did you bring, Elise? Surely you didn't come empty-handed to your future grandfather-in-law's celebration?"
All eyes turned to Elise.
She had no bag. No box. Nothing.
Damian shifted. "I have a gift from both of us-"
"No, Dami," Elise interrupted. She stood up. She smoothed the velvet of her dress.
"I didn't bring a material gift," Elise said. "Jade can be bought. Anyone with a checkbook can buy jade."
She looked at Jill. "I brought something that can't be bought."
"Air?" Jill sneered.
"A memory," Elise said.
She turned and walked toward the small stage at the end of the ballroom, where a grand piano sat silent.
