Seeing the place fresh through Brodie’s eyes, it all looked like a cartoonish version of the opulence she remembered. The ceilings looked higher, the sunlight pouring into the living room brighter, her mother’s stark minimalist décor (the brainchild of her interior designer, a woman so pricey Alan called her CV, for cash vacuum) more dramatic. Every inch of the place screamed “expensive.” Celeste was embarrassed; she wished she hadn’t let her father pressure her into bringing Brodie. Especially since Paulina, apparently, had managed to fly solo for the weekend.

A housekeeper informed her dinner was scheduled for six o’clock in the dining room. While Brodie was getting changed, Celeste slipped down the hall to Elodie’s room. Even though Elodie had been working for the company since graduating college, she still hadn’t moved out of her childhood bedroom. While Celeste hadn’t been able to leave fast enough, Elodie was clearly in no rush to cut the cord.

“I wish we were going out to a restaurant,” she said, sitting on the edge of Elodie’s bed. Elodie sat at a mahogany vanity, trying to pin her hair back. “It just feels so . . . intense with all of us here.”

Elodie, who had always been game to join in for a session of complaining about the quirks and vagaries of their parents, was in no mood to play along.

“I think it’s nice,” she said. “It’s more intimate this way.”

More intimate? When Celeste moved to Philly, Elodie declared that New York City wasn’t big enough for her and Paulina without Celeste around as a buffer. Clearly, something had changed. She took a closer look at her sister. Elodie had replaced her old tortoiseshell glasses with a sleeker pair of black lacquered frames. Her hair, naturally a mousier color than Celeste’s and Paulina’s golden blond, seemed to shimmer with new highlights and it was longer than Celeste had seen it since they were teenagers.

“Look at you. What happened to my sister Elodie? I demand you return her immediately,” Celeste teased.

Elodie turned away from the mirror to face her. Her blue-green eyes seemed lit from within.

“I think I’m in love,” she said.

At dinner, she could see why. The twenty-seat table—white Carrara marble imported from Italy—was set for seven. Celeste was next to Brodie and across from Liam Maybrook, Elodie’s guy. He was handsome, seemed intelligent, and when he looked adoringly at Elodie, it warmed Celeste’s heart. He was mid-story about something at an advertising agency when she took her seat. She had learned from Elodie that they met at a brand strategy creative meeting.

Beside her, Brodie sat stiffly without saying a word. She reached for his hand under the table.