The Dollhouse

Chapter 5

"Dinner's served."

I've always hated small talk.

As we sat down at the kitchen table, everything seemed wrong. The faces from the grey photographs on the walls were sitting opposite me, and I tried to cover the stain on the lace tablecloth I had made yesterday. Daddy had brought out the nice china. From across the table, Arabella was asking me polite questions.

Enduring small talk seemed to be some kind of art. Somehow, I always said the wrong thing. I replied too quickly, eager and nervous, or ponder too hard over my answers. There seemed to be no way I could loosen up and function like a normal human being.

Daddy placed a dish in the center of the table.

Arabella placed a hand over her heart. "My, I didn't know you had the ability to pull together a meal, Percival."

"There's no need to be sarcastic," he said, but he didn't sound cross.

Rudy hadn't said another word. Nothing gave the impression he was timid or awkward – in fact, he just looked bored.

Even so, I avoided looking in his direction.

Daddy took a seat at the head of the table. "Where is your sister? I told her to be down by now. Violet! Dinner's served!"

The dinner was a few vegetables and dry chicken. A safe family meal. My stomach felt too twisted to think about food. I hunched over in my chair, fork poised over my plate.

The sound of footsteps pounded down the stairs.

"Sorry, Dad," my older sister said, her voice casual. "Didn't hear you. I was playing my music."

Violet wore a tight sweater and a velvet skirt. Her hair was freshly curled. Strangers would mistake her for more than her age, and she knew it. There was no choice but to take the empty seat next to me.

"Music?" Arabella questioned. "Do you play an instrument?"

Violet was a liar. Her records hadn't been blasting when I ventured downstairs. She was probably waiting in her room, biding her time. Subtle rebellion was one of her specialties.

"God no," she laughed bitterly.

Daddy's expression was not an impressed one as he hacked away at the chicken. He couldn't say a word in their presence though – and everybody knew it.

No one had overcome the obstacle of small talk. And now Violet had graced us with her presence, it would start up all over again.

"Why don't you girls tell Arabella more about yourselves?"

What are your favorite subjects at school? English. That never surprised anyone. What music do you like? I didn't really keep up with mainstream music, so I just said the Beatles. What do you like to do for fun? Read, of course.

Violet shrugged after every question.

Daddy put down his cutlery. "Come on, you must have some kind of opinion," he urged. It was obvious how desperate he was for us to like each other.

They certainly looked a picture. Daddy still in his suit from work, the upper-class wife, and the academic son. They looked like the kind of suburban family you saw featured in commercials.

"Perhaps you can introduce them to some of the neighborhood kids at school," Arabella looked over at her son. "There are a lot of nice families in Haverbrook Hollow, and within walking distance too. You'll make some good friends here. Won't they, darling?"