“My mother’s recipe,” Lynda explains nervously as she sets a bowl down in front of me. I tell her it’s delicious. Then comes a small salad, then prime rib, mashed potatoes and asparagus. Everything’s good. But I feel strange. Every time I look up, all three of them are staring at me. My father and Lynda quickly avert their eyes each time. But Alison, who obviously isn’t quite as well versed in the rules of politeness, just continues to stare.

“Mommy and Daddy never told me I had a sister,” Alison announces, midway through her prime rib. I try not to let the words sting. After all, why would my father have said anything? He apparently thought I was trying to cut him out of my life. “A famous sister.”

“No,” I say, smiling at her. “It’s okay. I didn’t know I had a sister until a few days ago either.”

“So how are you my sister if you don’t live here?” she presses on. “All my friends’ sisters live at their houses.”

“Alison,” my father says in a terse voice. “Eat your mashed potatoes.”

“But Daddy!” Alison exclaims in frustration. “I’m just asking her a question!”

“It’s fine,” I say.

“Alison, you and Star have the same daddy,” Lynda explains.

“But I’ve been off living with my mom,” I say.

“Why?” she asks. “Why don’t you just live with us?”

I push some mashed potatoes around on my plate. “Actually,” I say to my father, “I was going to ask you about that.”

“About what?” my father asks blankly.

“About whether I could maybe stay for a little while,” I say nervously. “Here. If you have room. You know. So I can get to know you again?”

I watch him, my heart pounding, as I wait for a reply. He and Lynda exchange glances. My father clears his throat.

“Star, I’m not sure we have enough space for you,” he says. “I mean, as you can see, our house is quite small.”

I glance around. It doesn’t look that small. Then again, I suppose my perception may be skewed from living in a tiny motel room—and an even more cramped apartment—all week. But perhaps what my father is really saying is that he just doesn’t want me. My heart sinks.

“I don’t take up much room,” I say softly. My father glances at Lynda again.

“Well,” he says. “Maybe if we had a bigger place. But we’re kind of pressed for money right now. With the rent at the store and all, I don’t think—”