“Traffic,” Melissa repeated with a smirk. “That’s what happens when you drive with the masses instead of owning something decent.”
The table chuckled politely. Even the cousins who didn’t want to take sides. The laugh wasn’t because the joke was funny. It was because not laughing would make it awkward. I sat down at the only empty chair, the one right under the chandelier that spotlighted me like I was on trial. Dad adjusted his cuff links. Mom asked about my week like she was reading from a script. And Melissa, she just sat back with her wine, smiling like she’d already won whatever game she thought we were playing. I stared at the menu without reading a word. I’d been through worse. Kandahar in summer was worse. Watching a supply convoy take fire was worse. Sitting here being treated like I was the family’s charity case. It stung, but it wasn’t going to kill me. I could hear the table behind us talking about their Aspen ski trip. Another one was bragging about their new investment property in Houston. Our table had Melissa bragging about her latest case and dad reminding everyone about his clinic’s expansion. Then came the shift, the subtle glance in my direction, the unspoken question hanging in the air. “And what about Kate?” Melissa didn’t leave it unspoken for long.
“So Katie,” she said, using the nickname she knew I hated. “Still driving that Honda, huh? What exactly do you do with your time these days?”
The whole table turned. Forks paused midair. I smiled faintly.
“Work? What kind of work?” Dad asked, though he already assumed the answer wasn’t good enough.
“Technology projects,” I said.
Melissa laughed the same way she had in the parking lot.
“Technology projects sounds important. Do they pay in monopoly money or is it just volunteer hours?”
I didn’t answer. The silence stretched just long enough for everyone to agree with her without saying a word. I picked up my glass of water, took a slow sip, and kept my eyes on the tablecloth. If Melissa wanted to win this round, she could have it. She had no idea how much ground she was about to lose. The fork scraped against a plate sharp enough to break the silence that had fallen over the table. Melissa leaned back in her chair, swirling her wine like she was waiting for applause. Dad cleared his throat, a small signal that he was about to shift the spotlight again.
“So,” he said, adjusting his cuff links like the question had been scripted. “What exactly are you working on these days, Catherine? Something tangible, I hope.”
In one, the word tangible dropped like a hammer. To him, anything that didn’t involve a visible paycheck, a new house, or something that could be printed in the local paper wasn’t real.
“Defense tech,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Simulation systems.”
Melissa raised her eyebrows.
“Simulation systems like video games.”
A couple of people at the table chuckled. The kind of laugh you make when you’re not sure if it’s rude, but you want to stay on the right side of the joke.
“Not games,” I said. “Training platforms, military use.”
Mom nodded politely, as if she didn’t fully understand, but wanted to smooth the edges.
“That sounds creative.”
“Creative?” Melissa repeated, mocking the word. “She makes powerpoints for soldiers, apparently. Meanwhile, I’m managing a case that could set precedent statewide.”
Dad set down his fork.
“Melissa brings up a good point, Catherine. At some stage, you have to think about stability. You’ve been experimenting long enough.”
Alman, experimenting? I repeated under my breath.
“Yes,” he said. “You went into the service. You did your time, and I respect that. But people your age, responsible people are investing, establishing themselves, building something secure. You can’t keep drifting from one idea to another. It’s not sustainable.”
The word drifting hung there like smoke. Nobody jumped in to disagree. Not mom, not the cousins, not anyone. They just shifted uncomfortably, letting dad’s version of reality set the tone. Melissa smiled, sipping her wine.
“You know, I tried to tell her years ago, get into law, get into finance, something real. But she likes playing soldier and tinkering with little projects. cute, but not exactly respectable.”
I felt my jaw tighten. The urge to fire back sat heavy in my chest, but I knew better than to give them the show they wanted. The waiter arrived with steaks and salads, setting them down like offerings. For a moment, the attention broke. Melissa used the pause to launch into her favorite subject, herself.
“My firm’s expanding,” she announced. “We’re opening another office downtown, and guess who’s going to be managing the transition? yours truly.”
The table clapped politely. Dad beamed.
“That’s what I’m talking about. That’s drive. That’s leadership.”
