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Dream Journey had few non-negotiables, but the most prescient was that her sisters sit together and have dinner as a family. When she and her sisters were younger, this ritual was something close to harmonious; she would send Festa to get fresh herbs from the garden, Orfevre would accompany her to the store and pick the freshest cut of meat, and Stay Gold showed up at a reasonable hour, smelling of pine and fresh outdoor air. She’d ask Fenomeno about school, Stay Gold would tell a story about her travels, and the rest of the night lulled to a calm.
These days, however, her insistence on such a ritual made more work for herself. But she was nothing if not sentimental, and she insisted on having dinner on the table, even if the air was soured by tension and the chair at the head a void of absence.
She had grabbed chicken on her way home; she didn’t realize the rosemary she purchased was slightly wilted until she had unpacked it from the paper bag and onto the cold granite counter. It would do. Fenomeno accompanied her in the kitchen, silently penciling away at a sheet of homework, every now and then padding to the kitchen island to watch Journey work.
More often than not, chopping vegetables made her slim fingers ache. She wanted the parsley to be finely chopped, lest Orfevre complain about leaves getting stuck between her teeth again. She felt the friction of sweat under her sleeves from the oven’s heat radiating uncomfortably in the kitchen, charring the speared potatoes and roasting the chicken.
Truthfully, she had no idea where Festa was. Unlike their eldest sister however, she knew Festa would show face at the table without fail. The shaggy haired brunette had gotten to the age where she could leave the house without much question, however she usually made it back around 6:45 for dinner at 7:00 sharp, whether out of some hidden sense of sentimentality or some unspoken obligation to Journey. She chuckled fondly, imagining a flustered Festa insisting to her friends about how she had to be home for dinner tonight. The dull ache in her joints subsided momentarily. Perhaps she could ask Festa to help her tend the garden tomorrow.
As if on cue, the sound of the screen door opening and Orfevre yelling brought her back to her station at the kitchen counter. “Nakayama Festa, you smell like shit.”
Festa hurried past Orfevre, mumbling a “piss off” before rushing up the stairs.
Midway through, Orfevre yelled again. “Were you hanging with that Symboli girl again?”
“None of your business.” Festa’s gravelly voice called back over her shoulder.
“You smell like a vape store. It’s making my head hurt.”
“You’re so fucking dramatic.” The older sister yelled down from the top of the stairs, before disappearing into her room, punctuated with a loud slam of the door.
Journey sighed under her breath, quiet enough in hopes that Fenomeno wouldn’t notice. She would have to have a heart to heart with Festa about this later, but for now the meat couldn’t burn and the table had to be set.
“Oru, leave your sister alone,” her soft yet firm voice rang from the kitchen.
She glanced back at Fenomeno, who was making a show of pretending to be absorbed in her homework, seemingly unphased by the exchange between her two older sisters.
“Meno, would you like to help me set the table?”
Fenomeno’s bright eyes looked up from her worksheet immediately, as if she had been anticipating the invitation. She nodded hurriedly, sliding her paper aside and padding over the cool tile floor in her socks, careful and quiet, taking up only as much space as she needed.
“The good plates, Journey?”
Journey hummed for a second, envisioning her lone silhouette in the kitchen, silently doing the dishes after dinner was over. At least paper plates could just be thrown away. Paper made sense.
“Yes,” she said finally. “The good plates.”
Fenomeno hopped onto the stepstool in the kitchen, ceramic plates clinking as she stacked them on top of one another.
Balancing the tower, she made her way to the table, neatly assigning a plate to each spot. Journey absentmindedly fiddled with the chain of her glasses. One, two, three, four, five….
“Please grab another plate for Anego,” Journey requested, though it wasn’t much of an ask and more of a command, but Journey would never admit to this. She’d held onto a faint flicker of hope that the clock would strike 7, the front door slowly open and reveal a head of wispy black hair who still smelled of outdoors and warmth, arms full of sweets she’d gotten on the way home for her younger sisters.
Fenomeno knew better than to press further. She grabbed another plate and placed it at the head of the table, moving to arranging the silverware. In the living room, Orfevre took up the entire couch, leg slung over the armrest. The television flicked aimlessly with channels she deemed unworthy of her attention.
Journey slid the cutting board of parsley into the salad bowl with the tomatoes and cucumbers she had chopped earlier. Now, to squeeze a lemon.
“Oru,” she called from the kitchen. “Can you please get the drinks from the fridge?”
Lemon juice seeped onto her hands as she squeezed the fruit, stinging her calloused skin. She hadn’t realized the dryness of her own skin until now.
Orfevre groaned loudly enough that it could be heard from the backyard. “Why does it always have to be me? When’s the last time Festa ever did anything?”
“Because you’re sitting closest to the fridge.”
A pause.
“Fenomeno is closer.”
Journey squeezed the lemon again, a bit harder. The acidic juice singed her skin. “Oru. Drinks, please.”
She heard weight being pushed off the couch and loud footsteps stomping into the kitchen. As the chestnut-haired girl trudged into the kitchen, Journey felt an odd sense of comfort. Compared to her and her eldest sister’s small frames, Orfevre had grown tall and muscular. She looked healthy- at the very least healthier than Journey. No doubt she would be a fine runner one day.
Strong arms yanked the fridge door open. “What does everyone want?”
“Just water is fine, please.” Fenomeno answered from the table.
Orfevre rolled her eyes. “You always say that.”
Before Fenomeno could reply, a lighter pair of footsteps made their way into the kitchen. Festa popped her head in the kitchen, hair damp at a lazy attempt to wash away the scent Orfevre complained about earlier, ears sticking out of her characteristic gray beanie. She paused when she noticed Journey’s pale blue eyes on her.
“...Dinner smells good today.” She said, a bit awkwardly, but her smile was genuine.
Journey returned the smile. “Thank you, Festa. Be sure to wash your hands.”
Festa saluted lazily before moving to the sink, scrubbing her hands thoroughly at the request of her elder sister.
Orfevre shoved a cup in her face without looking at her. “You still smell like chemicals, and it’s still making my head hurt.”
“Shut up. That’s not even possible,” Festa scoffed
Orfevre pushed the cup closer to the shorter girl’s face. “If you want the iced tea, pour it now before Golshi drinks it all.”
Journey turned back to the salad bowl on the counter, tossing it with firm, measured movements. For a moment, the house was a faint echo of what it used to sound like.
The back door slammed open, snapping her out of her hazy reminiscence once again. Cold outside air rushed into the kitchen, tickling Journey’s neck, the unmistakable sound of rubber boots clomping over the tile. Journey made a mental note to mop later. Getting Gold Ship to take her boots off before coming inside was a losing battle that she had accepted defeat in long ago.
“Food!” A boisterous voice cheerfully announced. Journey didn’t need to turn around.
“Wash your hands.”
“Whaaaaat?! I already did!”
Festa chimed in, “You absolutely did not. Wash ‘em, I don’t want your grubby little hands all over our food.”
Gold Ship sighed dramatically and shuffled toward the sink, lazily flinging the faucet on. She opted to shake the water off of her hands in Festa’s direction rather than drying them properly, the brunette responding with a futile attempt to elbow her sister in the ribs. From the living room, Orfevre’s booming voice carried over.
“Golshi, if you eat before dinner starts I’m gonna kill you.”
“I’m not even eating?” Gold Ship responded, already tearing a piece of skin from the chicken that was fresh out of the oven.
Orfevre appeared in the doorway almost immediately. “If you’re going to lie, at least make a proper attempt.”
Gold Ship popped another piece of chicken into her mouth. “I’m just taste testing it. Goddesses forbid the chicken isn’t fit enough for King Orfevre.”
Orfevre sharply inhaled. Journey held up a wooden spoon without turning. “Why don’t we start getting seated at the table?”
The seating arrangements of the Gold family were an unspoken, concrete rule. Orfevre reserved the seat to the right of Journey without fail. If the seat is occupied on the rare occasion they have a guest, or if a sister dares to get a rise out of her, she simply stands beside the chair, looming until the occupant has no choice but to oblige. Journey sits in the middle of the table, appreciating the room to pass and receive things along to her sisters. To her left is Fenomeno, who always patiently waits until everyone has had their plate before politely asking Journey to set her plate.
Across the three are Festa and Gold Ship. Festa prefers to linger toward the edge of the table, observing her sisters with varying degrees of interest. Gold Ship sits next to her, smack in the middle, demanding as much space as possible.
The family makes their way to their designated spots. At the head of the table is an empty chair and an empty plate.
Before sitting, Journey places the chicken at the center of the table, and all is silent but the scrape of utensils and requests to pass side dishes.
“So.” Orfevre’s full-throated voice is first to break the silence. “You were with the Symboli girl again.”
Festa kept cutting her chicken, not looking up to meet Orfevre’s pale lilac eyes boring a hole into her skull.
“Yup,” Festa replied, popping the “p”. “And she has a name, since you’re so interested. I’m pretty sure you know it, too.”
“I don’t like her.”
Festa looked up, finally, her darker eyes meeting Orfevre’s. Her eyebrows raised slightly.
“Oh, what a shame. Guess I’ll stop hanging out with her forever then.”
Gold Ship snorted into her drink. Orfevre shot her a glare.
“I’m serious.” Orfevre continued, leaning forward into her chair, commanding space. “There’s something off about her.”
Festa sighed. “Off how?”
“She’s a bad influence on you. What do you even do when you’re together?”
Journey’s stern but gentle voice cut the conversation. “Oru.”
This time, Orfevre elected to ignore her elder sister. “You spend all day out with her. Judging by your subpar grades, there’s no way you just study together.”
“You sound like a cop, and I do study with her actually. She’s top of the class.” Festa didn’t break eye contact with her younger sister.
“That’s suspicious,” the chestnut-haired girl narrowed her eyes.
“How?”
“You hate doing homework and your grades are pitifully below average.”
“I hate you and I still hang out with you.”
Fenomeno looked down at her plate, moving the food in circles with her fork. Gold Ship’s shoulders were shaking faintly, doing everything in her power to stifle fits of laughter. Orfevre stared at her sister like an animal hunting prey, determining whether the insult warranted any escalation.
“It’s different.” She started, finally. “I’m your sister.”
“Okay? And Sirius is my friend?”
“That’s the problem!”
Gold Ship leaned her elbow on the table, deciding she wanted a stake in the conversation as well. “You wanna know what Golshi thinks?”
“Not particularly,” Festa started before Gold Ship’s haughty voice cut her off. “I think the problem is that Oru doesn’t have any friends-”
A sharp yelp punctuated Gold Ship’s sentence as Orfevre’s boot kicked her knee. The glasses on the table rattled.
Orfevre's ear flicked at the provocation, and her stern voice boomed. “The Symbolis are rich snobs who are clearly spending their money on turning you into some sort of delinquent. You almost smell as bad as Stego.”
Journey felt her blood run cold, and clearly a chord was struck with Festa as well; her usual apathetic voice raised considerably. “That’s not the same thing and you know it!”
The table fell quiet at Festa’s uncharacteristic outburst, and the food tasted oddly cold in Journey’s mouth. Gold Ship had stopped laughing almost immediately. Even the unshakeable Orfevre felt momentarily surprised at the hostility in Festa’s voice. Journey took a moment, regaining her practiced composure, and set her fork down soundlessly on the tablecloth.
“Oru,” she said, softly, the way she spoke when they were both much smaller.
But Orfevre wasn’t looking at her. “That girl is keeping you out and filling your head with all sorts of garbage.” Her eyes were still locked onto Festa. “You come home smelling like chemicals and acting like you’re too good to care about anything anymore.”
“I’ve always been like that, if you cared to pay attention to anyone other than yourself.”
“Nakayama, that’s not true.”
“It literally is.”
Journey inhaled slowly. “Orfevre,” she said, a little more firmly.
Orfevre finally looked at her elder sister.
“That’s enough.” Her pale blue gaze didn’t waver.
Orfevre huffed and stabbed the chicken on her plate with unnecessary force, shoveling it in her mouth as if stopping herself from saying anything else. Across from her, Festa went back to cutting her food with more pronounced, sharp movements than before.
The quiet that settled over the table was anything but comforting, the clinking of silverware against the porcelain plates reminded Dream Journey of the dull pain radiating from the back of her head. What would Anego have done if she were here? Would she have egged Orfevre on, or perhaps sided with Festa, defending the honor of Festa’s mysterious friend? Would she let that warm laugh that came from deep in her chest at the antics of her sisters?
Would they still be fighting like this if Stay Gold were here?
Each chew made the food in Journey’s mouth feel like gravel, tasteless, textureless mush that she had to force down her throat.
Gold Ship cleared her throat.
“So,” she said brightly, “Real kudos on the potatoes, Journey. Anyone else gonna have any or-”
The back door let out a piercing creak that only came from years of age. Journey felt a chill down her spine, not sure if it was from the cold air outside or the sinking she felt in her stomach. Leather boots padded against the tile. A coat unzipped and joined the rest of the family’s coats on the rack at the door.
A familiar, airy voice floated into the doorway.
“Smells good in here.”
Nobody spoke. It was as if a ghost rose from the dead and stood in the center of the kitchen.
Gold Ship was the first to turn in her chair, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Well look who decided to materialize!”
Stay Gold leaned against the doorframe as if she’d been here the entire evening, gloved hand raising up in a lazy wave. Her dark hair was tousled by the wind, and her dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, smelling of outside air and cigarette smoke.
“Evening, Golshi.”
Orfevre froze mid-bite. Festa stared down at her plate. Fenomeno’s fork hovered in front of her mouth. Journey had nothing to say.
It was times like these that reminded her coldly that the “Anego” in her head and the Stay Gold standing in their kitchen were two completely different people. If it were any other moment, she would have let out a dry laugh at the irony of the entire situation, yet there was no air in her throat to escape.
Stay Gold stepped further into the kitchen, assessing the environment with an easy familiarity as if she joined her sisters for dinner every night without fail. “Everyone eating already? The food looks great, Journey. Did Festa use herbs from the garden again tonight?”
Festa hasn’t touched the garden in months, Journey thought to herself.
“There’s a plate for you, Anego.” Journey murmured, eyes obscured by the light reflecting off of her glasses.
Despite Stay Gold’s slender frame, her presence swallowed the table whole. She reached over Orfevre’s shoulder and grabbed a piece of chicken from the platter, chewing it thoughtfully, and letting out a hum of approval.
Orfevre’s ears flattened. “You’re late.”
“Ah…. Lost track of time, I guess. You know how I am.” She shrugged, but her expression was unreadable.
“You should’ve called. We don’t mind waiting for you.” Journey stated, monotonously.
“Phone died,” the airy voice replied. “Save me a plate, please. I’m gonna sit out back for a bit.”
Stay Gold plucked a potato from the tray, popping it into her mouth before rummaging through the cupboard, grabbing a pack of cigarettes Journey could’ve sworn she threw out yesterday. She dropped them into the back pocket of her black slacks and slid through the screen door.
“You just got here!” Orfevre groaned after her, knowing deep down it was futile.
Stay Gold flashed a smile over her shoulder. “Oru, relax. I’ll be back soon enough.”
—------------------------
The kitchen had since emptied. The ceramic plates were stacked by the dishwasher, waiting to be cleaned. She sighed as she ran through the to-do list in her head, her fingers absentmindedly and reflexively washing each fork and knife, setting it onto the drying rack to be put away. Tomorrow, she had to call Festa’s school; the stack of letters about her younger sister’s growing number of absences was starting to consume the filing cabinet.
She had to fill out her own paperwork applying to Tracen Academy. More than anything, she wanted to run freely like her eldest sister, but something in her put off sending out her final application. The envelope would be sealed, and finality would sink in, and Journey would have to think about how their sinking ship of a home would function without her.
But that’s too far in the future; there’s dishes to be done and a table to be wiped and a sister with shaggy brown hair who she worries too much about. Orfevre was probably angry too. She’d spent the rest of the evening on the sofa, straight backed and responding to everything with one word answers.
Everyone was asleep by now, except for the shadowy figure on the deck that tapped shining ash into the tray beside her. She toweled off the last plate and silently toed to the screen door. Cold night air and the scent of smoke wafted against her pale skin.
“I’m going to bed now. Goodnight, Anego.” Journey stated, as if the events of the night were a distant memory.
Stay Gold had turned toward her, wearing a mellow smile. The light from her cigarette illuminated the bags under her lilac eyes and the weathering on her skin.
“Night, Journey. Thanks for dinner.”