Leaning over her plate, Nicki impales a piece of steak on her fork and shoves it in her mouth, grinning at Finn from across the table. Finn rips open a roll and begins buttering it while Nicki continues to stare her down, chewing her steak menacingly. Everyone is silent. Katriina concentrates on cutting her own steak, which is well done, of course, charred so badly she can barely get her knife through it. At least she can feel the peaceful throbbing of her finger beneath the paper towel.

“Can I have some wine?” London asks.

“No,” says Nicki, between chews. “You don’t want to become a drunk like your aunt.” Walter glares at her. “What?” she says.

“Nana always let me have wine.”

Nicki shakes her head. “Well, Nana also thinks it’s a good idea to take whisky barrels over waterfalls. So, you know, not a great example, babe.”

They all keep their eyes down on their plates, except Nicki, who gazes straight ahead, a tiny smile on her lips as she chews. This is Nicki’s element, thinks Katriina. She could sit here and screw with us all night.

But London is fuming. “Like you even know what Nana thinks,” she mumbles.

“What was that?” says Nicki.

“Like you even fucking know what Nana thinks!” London yells.

Katriina feels the collective intake of breath around the table. Milan and Vienna cover their ears, and Ross slides off his chair and crawls under the table – their coping mechanisms for dealing with London’s temper. She has always had a soft spot for London – she remembers what it was like to be a teenaged girl, volatile and confused. Still, she presses down on her finger and prays for London to let it go.

“No one knows what she thinks,” Nicki says, unfazed. “She has just about as many brain cells as a wad of chewing gum.”

“That’s not true!” London looks like she is about to cry. “You all think she’s crazy because she doesn’t play by your stupid rules. But did you ever think you’re the ones who are crazy for being so, like, rule-oriented to begin with?” She swipes her fork through the air, narrowly missing the wine bottle.

“Hey, L, watch out,” says Finn, reaching out and gently pushing her arm away from the bottle.

London turns to Finn, her face dark. She snatches her arm away from Finn’s hand. “Don’t touch me!”

Finn raises her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Holy crap, chill out,” she says.

“Shut up, Aunt F, you don’t even live here! Stop acting like you give a shit about us! And get the fuck out of Nana’s chair!” London pushes back her own chair so violently it topples over, skidding into the wall behind her. She gives it a little kick as she stomps out of the room.