Page 37 of Blacklist

“Why not a traditional centerpiece with little dog bone cookies at the table?”

“That’s genius. She can’t argue with that.” She nearly drops her bag as she struggles to get her phone out to make a note. I hold open the back door to the kitchen while she types it out.

We deposit our bags in a heap on the corner desk where Felix usually plans menus and grocery lists. I turn in time to spot excited, blue eyes pop up over the back of a stool at the counter. “Auntie Dair, you’re home!”

Warmth spreads through me at Ellie’s greeting. She’s probably the only person in this house to genuinely miss me when I’m gone. In fairness, she’s the only person in this house that I miss most of the time, too. Her eyes skip to Poppy, growing from quarters to saucers. “Auntie Poppy!”

I can’t compete with my best friend for her affection, though.

“There is my little darling,” she coos, going over to give her a hug. Her slender, amber arms circle the little girl and Ellie melts into the hug. Poppy loves her almost as much as I do.

“I got you something,” Poppy tells Ellie. She produces a bright red bag emblazoned with a star.

Ellie leaps out of her chair, knocking her glass over as she reaches for the American Girl bag.

“You spoil her,” I whisper to Poppy as Ellie unwraps the doll she brought her.

“I love it!” Her tiny arms wrap tightly around her new treasure before she releases the doll to study it more closely. She analyzes it with the intensity of an astronomer discovering a new star. “She’s so beautiful.”

“Someone should.” Poppy mutters so only I can hear.

Enough said. Poppy gets away with it, though, since she’s not family. It’s harder when I try to spoil Ellie. Malcolm doesn’t like it when I bring her gifts. He says it’s not my place. It’s not as though she wants for anything. Ginny has filled her room with beautiful objects and books and clothes all with a particular place they must remain to “look right.” It’s like stepping into a page from a catalog. Ginny throws her lavish birthday parties, just like my father used to give us. Those objects appear in Ellie’s life, showing up in her room in place of her mother and father. Those parties are full of people she doesn’t know, occupying her parents’ time. It’s moments like this that the little girl craves. A simple surprise. A loving gesture.

“Why is she eating down here?” I ask Cara, the night nanny, who’s taken our arrival as an opportunity to play a game on her phone. She looks up and answers with some hesitation, “Mr. Malcolm has a guest at dinner.”

“Oh, I forgot.” I’d seen the car, but it’s just like my brother to send his daughter to the kitchen while he entertains a business partner. It’s what our father did. Our mother never allowed that when she was alive. She said supper was family time. My father’s soft spot had allowed that. But when Ellie was born, he hadn’t wanted her at the dinner table. A sentiment his son parroted and her mother didn’t fight. I’d hoped that she’d be welcome there now that there was an empty spot at the table.

“Well, we’ll join you,” I tell Ellie.

“You, too, Auntie Poppy?”

“Of course.” Poppy grabs her tiny hands and they twirl around the kitchen.

Cara puts down her phone, looking nervous. “They’ve set the table for you,” she tells me. “I’m supposed to ask you to head up as soon as you’re home.”

The underlying implication is clear. I’m expected to be at dinner. I’m expected to play my role in this family.

“Is that so?” I stride out of the kitchen until I find Felix in the butler’s pantry. He’s prepping what looks like the second course.

“There you are! Your brother wants you at dinner. He’s been asking where you were since I served the salad.”

“My brother should have invited me to dinner,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m an adult. I might have other plans.”

“I told him so.” He nods sympathetically, and I feel bad for avoiding him. None of this is his fault. “Adair, there’s something—”

“Can you have Lindsay set two more places at the table?” I interrupt.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he warns me. Felix has always looked out for me, but things need to change. Malcolm can’t order me around like our father did. I’m not about to trade one tyrant for another.

“I have guests of my own,” I say.

He glances over at his soup, and I can see he’s calculating how to split it with the sudden addition.

“Unless there’s not enough,” I say quickly, realizing too late that once again my brother and I are burdening someone else’s life with our childish disagreements.

“I can make it work,” he says. “Ginny never eats anything anyway. I’ll give her a smaller portion.”

I make my way back to Poppy and Ellie. Bending down, I lift the little girl onto my hip.