The Place We Were Made Read online

  THE PLACE WE WERE MADE

  LAUREN JONES

  Copyright © 2023 by Lauren Jones

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For Callan.

  My love.

  There’s nothin’ like you and I.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Lauren Jones

  CHAPTER ONE

  Something bad is happening. I knew it the second my brother showed up for dinner. Thirty minutes ago, I was setting the table and through the dining-room window I saw a sleek, black sedan pull up out front. It idled for a few seconds before Alex stepped out, phone to his ear and a duffle bag in his other hand. I love my brother and I’m excited to see him. But I also know he’s supposed to be in New York with his band working on their next album. The fact he’s on this side of the country and not the other has my palms sweating.

  “What’s happening?” I nudge Alex’s arm as our mother places several dishes of food on the table in front of us. Now a rich garlic smell complements the tension in the room.

  “I’m here for dinner.” He shrugs as he pulls the fancy serving dish of mashed potatoes toward himself and shovels some onto his plate.

  “Are you staying here?”

  “Yes, he’s staying for two days before he has to be in New York.” Mom huffs as she takes her seat. “Not everything is a conspiracy, Kit.”

  Alex looks back to his plate. Clearly, he’s a dead end so I try my luck with my sister, Bea, who sits opposite me. Her shoulders are back, and her jaw is tight. She’s about to crack, so she chooses that moment to use the bathroom.

  “I’ll be back in a sec.” She stands up so quickly, the fine linen napkin Mom issued us with upon arrival falls to the floor.

  “I don’t think everything is a conspiracy,” I grumble, even though Mom isn’t listening, and Dad and Alex are squabbling over who gets the bigger chicken leg. Can no one else see how weird this is?

  Alex is passionate about his music. Sometimes, to the detriment of his personal life so it’s strange he would bail on his bandmates when their album is already overdue. And it’s strange our Sunday night dinner didn’t start off with Dad trying to get us all out to the garage to look at whatever old piece of radio equipment he disassembled over the weekend. No part of this event is adding up.

  At that moment, the front door opens and my older sister, Eve, drops her bag on the table in the entryway with a thud. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare.”

  Eve being late actually adds a sense of normalcy to the evening.

  She shrugs off her fitted black blazer before carefully removing her Louboutin pumps. They cost her a fortune, crush her toes, and reward her with severe cramping in her feet after wearing them all day. She’s never been happier with a purchase.

  “We haven’t started yet,” Mom says as Eve turns around and sees Alex. He stands and pulls her into a hug.

  “What happened to you, Evie?” He holds her at arm’s length and inspects her. “Last time I was here, you were working at that essential oil store and trying to convince us all not to wear shoes.”

  “I’m in real estate now.” She smooths the wrinkles from the front of her cream silk blouse. “And I love it. I think this job might be the one.”

  Mom scoffs, and even though Eve ignores it, the muscles in her cheek pull tight as she clenches her teeth. My older sister isn’t as lucky as the rest of us. She’s never known which career to pursue and, as a result, has explored many options.

  “Can we eat yet?” Dad grumbles, his fork poised over the chicken he won.

  “Of course,” Mom confirms as Bea returns to the table.

  Eve takes her seat as I study my family members’ expressions for clues. Why didn’t Bea bring her boyfriend, Jamie, and where is Darren, Eve’s fiancé? Even Spencer, Eve’s best friend, isn’t here. She’s been a staple at our dinners since her parents bought the house across the street twenty years ago.

  Strictly biological family means this is serious.

  “Where’s Spencer?” I ask Eve.

  “At work, I guess. I think she’s on a deadline.” She shrugs.

  “It’s just family tonight, Kit,” Mom says.

  Alex shifts in his seat, and something dawns on me. “Wait. Is someone dying?”

  Dad disregards my remark and glances at Mom, who is wearing that barely-holding-it-together facial expression. The one she reserves for door-to-door salespeople and Mrs. Hastings, the woman in her volunteer group who called her bake sale idea “gauche”.

  “No one’s dying,” Bea pipes up. I stare at her, and she shrinks in on herself. She knows exactly why we’re here and she didn’t tell me. After twenty-six years on this earth together, plus nine months in the womb, she has now decided that keeping secrets from each other is something we do. I narrow my eyes at my twin, and her cheeks turn pink.

  “It smells great, Mom,” Bea stammers, but I cut in before Mom can accept the compliment.

  “I don’t understand why Alex is here and why we’re using the special occasion tablecloth and why Dad has done his hair.”

  Dad presses his hands on the salt-and-pepper strands at the crown of his head. He hasn’t had a haircut in five months and usually does nothing to contain the unruly mess it’s become. Tonight, it’s smoothed at the sides and far too shiny because he hasn’t mastered measuring out a dime-sized amount of gel.

  “Oh yeah, this is the special occasion tablecloth.” Eve moves her plate to inspect the woven floral pattern beneath it. “I thought you threw it out when Alex spilled gravy on it.”

  Mom’s eyes grow wide. “He what?”

  “It’s over there, under his plate,” Bea points out, completely ignoring the daggers Alex is staring at her.

  “Is that why you insisted on sitting there?” The sorrow in Mom’s eyes is palpable as she looks at Alex. The golden child is looking a little tarnished now.

  “It was an accident,” Alex explains.

  “It’s a family heirloom.” Mom’s lip is shaking.

  “It’s a tablecloth.” Eve laughs.

  Mom’s eyes snap to her eldest daughter, her shaped brows drawn, and her lips pressed tight. “My great grandmother sewed the lace trim by hand.”

  “But it’s a tablecloth.” Eve folds her arms across her chest. “It’s to protect the table from having food spilled on it. Also it’s white so that is a poor design
choice.”

  How has a years-old gravy stain usurped the purpose of this gathering? I look back to Bea. She’s the weakest link and there is a chance I can exploit it with some twin telepathy. She immediately knows what I’m up to and becomes invested in re-positioning the beans on her plate.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me what’s happening!” I hiss across the table.

  She drops her fork with a clatter. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Yes, you do,” Alex chimes in, only to immediately regret it when a chunk of carrot narrowly misses his left ear.

  “Beatrice, don’t throw food,” Mom barks. “And stop lying.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  Eve scoffs, “Yes you are.”

  “I knew it!” I point at my twin. “Now tell me. Is someone dying?”

  “No!” Mom and Dad say in unison.

  “Then why are we all here?”

  “We’ll talk about it after dinner,” Mom drapes her napkin over her lap with shaking hands.

  I glance around at the faces of my family members. They can’t look at each other and I’m reminded that this table holds memories like a vice. On four separate occasions, we’ve sat here and been informed of a grandparent’s passing. Alex announced he was moving to LA over this matching floral serving dish set and we sat in these very seats when Dad told us they found a mass on his liver in my junior year of high school. A family-only dinner with this tablecloth is a bad omen.

  “Bea, did something happen between you and Jamie?” I look at my sister. “Because if he hurt you, I’ll scalp him. Alex will help.”

  “I will,” my brother confirms, his voice deepening.

  “Nothing happened with Jamie,” Bea sighs. “Please don’t scalp him.”

  I release the grip I have on my butter knife. “Then I am really confused about what’s going on?”

  “Just hurry up and tell her,” Eve says.

  Alex puts down his fork and looks at Mom. “Yeah. It’s time.”

  “After dinner,” Mom says. Her tone is sharp.

  “Mom, do it now,” Bea chimes in. “I’m tired of keeping it a secret.”

  “I said we’ll discuss it after dinner.”

  All three of my siblings talk over each other, imploring Mom to explain everything, but she holds out. The chatter is overwhelming and when it reaches fever pitch, Dad slaps his hand on the table, causing Mom to emit a surprised squeak.

  “Stop beating around the bush, Elaine,” he grumbles. “Kit, we’re selling the house. We told Bea two weeks ago because she showed up when the realtor was here. Alex found out a month ago because we thought he’d want to visit one more time before it sells, and Sheryl Hastings from number fourteen knows because she’s always sticking her nose in our business.”

  “Doug!” Mom scolds.

  “What? She was going to find out, anyway. They’re putting the for-sale sign up in the morning.”

  “I wanted to approach the subject with a little more tact.”

  Dad frowns. “Oh, and Eve found out because her brokerage is handling the sale.”

  I turn to Eve, who lifts her shoulders in reluctant confirmation.

  “Wait, wait.” My head spins. “Why are you selling the house?”

  “Downsizing.” Mom brushes off the question and Dad rolls his eyes. “You kids have all moved out, so there’s no sense in hanging onto such a large house.”

  Such a large house? Bea and I shared a room until we moved out, and we had a strict morning schedule to ensure everyone had equal time to get ready in our single bathroom. We outgrew this house when Mom gave birth to Bea and me. Now it’s the perfect size for an older couple.

  “That makes no sense.” The temperature in the room feels like it’s rising exponentially, and I briefly fan my face with my napkin. “Where are you going to move to?”

  “We’ll find somewhere. Now, can we just eat dinner and not worry about this?” Mom exhales like she’s run a marathon.

  “Isn’t the whole point of this dinner to talk about it?” Alex lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug and Mom’s eyes widen, her mouth slack. Yet another betrayal from her favorite child.

  “Yes, it is.” Dad’s tone is rigid once again, and he looks back at Mom. “It’s time to tell them, Elaine.”

  Eve’s brows draw together. “I’d also like to know where you’re going. Because I keep sending you listings and neither of you will commit to anything.”

  “I haven’t decided where to go,” Dad says flatly, and my siblings and I share a collective look of further confusion.

  “So, that’s it? You’re selling our childhood home to go nowhere.” Alex rubs his chin.

  “Yes,” Dad lies.

  Eve’s head drops back, and she lets out an exaggerated breath. She’s seconds from leaving and I’d like an explanation before that happens.

  “What about the block parties? The Stewarts just put in a pool and the invitations for Christmas in July have gone out,” I ask. “And what about the Larsons? They’re your oldest and closest friends. You can’t leave them.”

  Alex chuckles under his breath. “I’d sell the house at a loss to get out of Christmas in July.”

  Mom ignores Alex and looks at me. “Kit, I know it’s a shock, but we’ll get through it as a family.”

  I sag back into my chair. “I still don’t understand. Why sell the house when you don’t have somewhere else to go?”

  Mom and Dad share a look that makes me think they do know where they’re going. Mom is always talking about visiting her sister in Florida, and Seattle’s extended bouts of rainy weather often get her down. She’s also fallen out of love with her guest services job at the Pacific Grand Hotel, and she’s started ditching her weekly book club. A knot of panic forms in my stomach.

  “Everything will be fine, Kit.” Dad’s tone is slightly more nurturing.

  “Yeah,” Bea agrees. “We’ll just do Sunday dinner at the new house.”

  Not sure how to do that when a third of the family is in Florida.

  “Your dad’s right, Katherine. Everything is going to be okay.” Mom’s eyes are soft as she stares across the table at me. “It won’t be that big of a change. You and Bea are happy in your nice little apartment, and you’ve got a great job at the bank.”

  That’s not the point. Also, “great” isn’t the adjective I’d use. I’m a loan officer, so my day mostly consists of disappointing people. “Stable” would be more accurate.

  “Is it a financial issue? Because I’m sure we could help. At least Alex can,” I offer on behalf of my brother.

  Mom holds up her hands. “It’s not a financial issue.”

  “Are you moving to Florida, then? I know how much you love it down there, but it’s so far away. What about all the memories we have in this house? Seattle has an average of one hundred and fifty-two sunny days per year…that’s pretty good!”

  “What? We’re not moving to Florida,” Dad says.

  “And it’s not about the weather,” Mom adds.

  “Then why sell the house? It’s in a good area. All your friends live nearby, and Dad’s commute is practically nothing.”

  Eve reaches out and pats my arm. “She’s right. It is a great area, and it’s expected to boom in the next five years. Hang on to the house for longer and you could make a lot more money.”

  “It’s not about money.” Dad’s tone is firm.

  “Then what is it about?” Bea chimes in. “Because I don’t think you should sell it either, and if it has nothing to do with money and you love the neighborhood, why is this place suddenly not good enough?”

  Bea holds Mom’s gaze for a long time, almost like a challenge. Waiting for her to offer a more plausible explanation but instead her face falls. Tears spring to her eyes as she drops her fork and it clangs on the side of the plate, splattering the heirloom tablecloth with more gravy. Alex looks momentarily relieved, until Mom speaks.

  “Your father and I are getting a divorce.”


  The room falls silent, and you could cut the tension with one of Mom’s fancy butter knives.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “The sale has nothing to do with any of you,” Dad says. “It’s about the division of assets.”

  That’s it? Our home, our family and their marriage come down to the division of assets? That hurts more than being told it is our fault.

  “Whose fault is it?” Eve’s voice has a razor edge. “Because you told me you were just selling the house. Not that your marriage is over.”

  “It’s complicated, Eve,” Mom says.

  Eve doesn’t look at Mom. Her attention is fixed on Dad, who has taken to pushing food around his plate.

  “What did she do, Dad?”

  “Eve!” Mom snaps as Dad looks up. He doesn’t spring to her defense, instead he silences Eve with narrowed eyes.

  “I need a minute,” Bea whispers.

  “Beatrice, please.” Mom’s hand shakes as she holds it over her heart.

  Bea stands, hurries through the kitchen and out the door to the backyard. Mom lets out a small whimper.

  “I’ll talk to her,” I assure my mother, even though my shock level matches Bea’s with what’s unfolded tonight.

  It’s a clear and cool night with the sweet smell of rain hanging in the air. The overgrown grass is soft underfoot and the lights of the neighboring houses cast enough glow to light the way to the old treehouse at the back corner of the property.

  Bea climbs the weather-beaten ladder and when she reaches the top, holds her hand out to help me up. I grip her arm and maneuver myself to sit beside her, dangling our legs off the edge of the mossy decking boards.