Mrs Johnson hefted the heavy pot in Aria’s direction so she could ladle the soup into her bowl. Delicate steam wove its way through the air just above the bowl. A few dots of amber oil hovered on the surface of the broth. Aria found a bay leaf in the bowl and picked it up between her index finger and thumb. She placed it in her mouth and held it there. The sound of the room faded and gave way to the experience of it. If wisdom and perspective had a taste, she thought, it would be bay leaf. It reminded her of a candid black and white image of an old hand-hewn log cabin with its occupants, in 1800s clothing, smiling at one another. She could taste the image of a wood-burning oven at the end of summer, right before summer slowed down into fall. It tasted like a nostalgic antique.

Everyone had settled into the rhythm and quiet of consuming the meal when Mrs Johnson’s voice cut through the scene. “Aria cut first class again today.” She was aiming her statement in her husband’s direction.

He looked up from his plate. “Is that so,” he said, rolling the bite of food he had in his mouth around to make way for the words while he talked. “I’ll have a talk with her later,” he said, eyeing Aria with a disciplining stare.

The stare was like a veil concealing an intimacy that shouldn’t exist between father and daughter. Aria felt a chill go through her. She had hoped that the fact that today was her birthday would allow her more than the usual leniency for her errors. She had underestimated Mr and Mrs Johnson’s tendency to make birthdays feel like every other day of the year.

For the rest of the dinner, she was replete with unease, watching the rest of her family converse, anticipating what was to come. Oblivious to her discomfort, they laughed and talked and ate and sang her the happy birthday song as if rejoicing more in the sound of their own voices than in the celebration of Aria’s existence.

When dinner was done, the youngest kids went up to their rooms to play. Mr Johnson walked over to the television and sat down in the recliner. He pressed the buttons on the remote control until he found a golfing tournament and settled in to watch it in a fixated silence. Aria got up to help her two oldest siblings do the dishes while their mother sponged off the table. Mrs Johnson was wearing a look of self-satisfaction as she cleaned.