“Girls! Get into position,” the father called out. “They’ll be here any second.”
The two sisters, eighteen and sixteen, raced down the stairs one after the other into the spacious, sunlit living room. Their mother was fluffing the cushions on the burgundy sofa with the gold buttons. The muscles in her ageless face were tight.
“One of you, turn on the music,” she said without looking at them.
The younger girl darted to the player and started the playlist they’d carefully put together.
“What is this?” the father asked.
“Classical.”
“Wasn’t it supposed to be jazz in the background?”
“Yes, well, turns out I misunderstood something,” the mother shot back impatiently.
“Then turn it down,” the father said.
The mother straightened.
“Don’t you dare turn it down! Otherwise you can’t even hear what it is.”
“That’s kind of the point of background music, Mom,” the older girl said carefully. “But fine—have it your way. We’ll leave it.”
The woman gave a thumbs-up, then stepped to the window to adjust the curtains.
“You know what?” the father said, turning to the older daughter. “When we’re eating the meat, jump in and mention that next time your mom should make it in a pan instead of the oven.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” the mother snapped. “That would make it look like I can just be put down in front of others.”
“Okay, then say you personally prefer making it in a pan. That it tastes different.”
“That’s ridiculous, Dad. What if she starts asking questions? I have no idea how to cook meat.”
“You still need to say something that makes it sound like you actually spend time in the kitchen. Their daughter cooks all the time. Apparently she was already making the best fish dishes in the family at fourteen.”
“You know what?” the older girl said, grabbing her head. “I have a great idea.”
She hurried to the bookshelf and dropped a thick volume onto the sofa.
They all flinched at the sound of the doorbell. The father adjusted his collar, straightened up, then ceremoniously took his wife’s hand.
“Okay, family. I’m counting on you. Let’s impress our soon-to-be best friends. Be creative—but stick to the script.”
Then he hurried to open the door.
“What wonderful smells!” came a voice from the hallway.
The sisters exchanged a look.
“Showtime…” the younger one snickered.
The long-awaited family — the doctor husband and the lawyer wife — looked around the elegant living room with clear approval. The woman pressed a hand to her chest.
“Oh, this music! My favorite!”
The hostess shot her husband a triumphant look. He gave the faintest nod — as always, his wife had been right.
“Sorry,” the older girl said, hurrying to the sofa. “I left my book here — God, I’m so messy.” With a theatrical flourish, she picked it up and held the cover toward the guests. “I got completely absorbed in reading, and when I heard the bell, I just dropped it,” she added with an embarrassed laugh.
The guests’ seventeen-year-old daughter stepped closer and gently ran her fingers over the cover.
“Wow… Mastering Fish Dishes! I used to love this when I was younger,” she said enthusiastically. “Of course it can’t really tell me anything new now, but…” She laughed. “You have to start somewhere.”
“My favorite is beurre blanc. That’s what I like making the most,” the older girl said softly.
The girl gave a small, appreciative clap.
At the end of dinner, the visiting couple turned to the younger daughter.
“And what about you?” the woman asked. “What do you like to do in your free time?”
The girl lowered her head shyly.
“Don’t be shy,” her father encouraged. “Go on — tell them. They’re our friends.”
“Well…” she mumbled. “Lately I’ve been gathering material about the Solomon Islands. Mostly about how they handle medical care on the smaller islands… and what kind of volunteer programs operate there.”
“That’s why I was so surprised when you mentioned Vanuatu,” the hostess cut in.
The guests nodded with approval.
“Then let’s drink to that,” the host said, raising his glass. “Welcome to our little town. We’re truly honored you accepted our invitation.”
*
As soon as the house disappeared in the rearview mirror, all three of them let out a long breath.
“Mom, what’s beurre blanc?”
“How should I know? Some kind of fish, I guess, if she got it from that book. You were incredibly lucky she didn’t ask how to make it.”
“You told them I’ve been cooking since I was fourteen! That was seriously the best you could come up with?”
“Because that woman must’ve said a hundred times they only eat beef. I figured fish would be totally unfamiliar territory for them.”
“Vanuatu was way more embarrassing,” the father cut in.
“Oh right,” the girl laughed. “Isn’t that some kind of dog breed?”
“No. It’s an island group. We told them that’s where we volunteered when we met. I just completely forgot.”
“Pff. I totally lost the thread by then,” the mother waved it off. “That awful whiny violin music had completely done me in.”