“I mean, I hope so,” I said. “I want to be able to go back to work.”

“Our cooking isn’t that bad, Aaron,” my dad said, beans floating through the air to land on his plate. He caught me staring wistfully at the display of telekinesis and winked.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound encouraging, “I think you did a great job seasoning these.” I gestured to the green beans, which were well-seasoned, but horribly cooked. I don’t know why my parents insist on boiling things like they’re stuck in the fifties and haven’t discovered roasting or pan searing and—

Never mind. This is off-topic.

“What exactly are you going to do when we don’t live together anymore, Aaron?” I teased lightly. “Unless you were planning on taking your dorky little sister with you when you move out.”

“I can pay the rent if you do all the cooking,” he said, tossing me a smarmy smile.

“Is that your way of saying that you’re going to make money and I’m not?”

“That’s my way of saying that computer scientists make a decent living.”

“They do. But you’re not a computer scientist.”

“Children,” my mother chastised just as Aaron was sticking out his tongue.

I didn’t take his ribbing particularly seriously. Family dinner is my safe zone—in non-sprained-wrist times, it’s the thing I control, the thing I excel at. I feel less out of place, less like I have to hide, when I’m the one who controls the food, who’s responsible for everyone sitting down and relaxing. As we’ve gotten older, it hasn’t been a daily occurrence, but we always make time on Fridays for Shabbat. Having both grown up in fairly religious Jewish households, our parents still go to temple a few times a year, but stopped making us go once we’d had our bar and bat mitzvahs. None of us is particularly devout (and I know my mom has a particularly complicated relationship with her faith because of her visions, though she’s never talked to me about it), but we all agree that Shabbat dinner can’t be missed. I haven’t thought about my own faith in a long time, but the ritual of making a meal, sharing it with my family, and proving that I have value, is sacred to me.

“Besides, you never know what career Rose might end up in,” my mom said, before turning to my dad.

“Honey, Aaron is about to grab the salt and spill it everywhere, would you just pass it?” she said, exasperated, before turning back to me. “I should have listened to you about the chicken, Rose. I saw your comment about the beans and just assumed I’d gotten the whole meal right.”