The Shuddering

one beside it—square white plates, their father’s best silverware, delicate crystal wineglasses glinting beneath the glow of an antler chandelier. It was the one of the things she missed the most about married life—she loved being domestic, making fancy meals for no particular occasion at all. Now, after four years together, she was left alone in an apartment big enough for two.
    Their father had bought her a three-thousand-dollar wedding dress—one made out of silk organza that made her think of forest nymphs and fairy tales. Their parents had spent the entire day avoiding each other—Michael Adler doting on the girlfriend he had brazenly brought with him to the ceremony, their mother keeping her eyes averted and her emotions in check. After a dozen years apart, they still couldn’t sit at the same table without trying to tear each other’s throats out.
    Ryan had sat with Jane in the back room of the church while the quartet played, quiet as a mouse, a hand pressed over his mouth as he stared at the ground like the Thinker. Jane knew he was scared for her. He didn’t trust Alex, afraid that history would repeat itself, that Jane would become their mother, torn apart by a cheating husband. And she was scared too, but she loved Alex; she couldn’t allow herself to be controlled by fear—a face that Ryan couldn’t seem to accept for himself. He had that same pensive look the day she told him Alex was gone, choking on her tears as she described the texts she’d found on his phone. Ryan listened insilence, his anger dulled by a glint of vindication. She knew what he was thinking without him saying the words: he had predicted the worst four years before, but she hadn’t listened because that was Ryan’s thing—when it came to relationships, he was nothing but doom and gloom. And for nearly four years, everything had been perfect. For four years, Ryan had been wrong.
    Until he had been right.
    In a way she was glad for the pain. It brought her closer to understanding her brother’s fear, and she supposed Ryan was right: relationships were complicated, volatile things. They were riddled with lies, with hidden secrets, ones you only found out about when it was too late. She had loved Alex, convinced that they were destined to have a beautiful life together. And then it all fell apart—just as she and Sawyer had ten years before. With Sawyer, there hadn’t been another woman, but another city. Boston was a world away, and it was either her or an education that would lead to the career of Sawyer’s dreams. That was why she had forgiven him. A future was just that: the rest of your life. A relationship could crumble at any opportunity.
    Taking a step away from the table, Jane wiped the palms of her hands down the front of her apron, smoothed the fabric across her thighs, and smiled at the perfection that was the dinner table. It was a fancy dinner party in a life that had become nothing but stillness: silence at work after her eight-year-olds went home to their mothers, quiet at home as silence rang in her ears.
    Ryan slid up beside her, a green glass beer bottle held between his fingers. He took a swig, assessing the table before him. Jane sighed, motioning to his drink.
    “Really?”
    “I’m thirsty.”
    “Isn’t there a rule about mixing beer and wine?” she asked. “You do realize I bought a bottle of Bordeaux.”
    “One bottle for five people isn’t going to cut it, Janey,” Ryan told her. “Unless you’re feeding midgets.”
    “It goes with the meal.” Jane turned back toward the kitchen. Despite the cabin’s size, there wasn’t a proper space for the table, just a large nook jutting out of the kitchen’s north side. The table their mother had bought hardly fit within it—Mary Adler had assumed it would go in the dining room, but their dad had already ordered a pool table and refused to send it back.
    “Whatever. You want to drink beer with boeuf Bourguignon, suit yourself.” The Talking Heads drifted in melodic waves from the living room. She could hear the shuffling of cards, which meant a new game of poker was about to start. “Can you call everyone in?”
    “Only if I can sit at the head of the table.” Ryan pointed the beer bottle at his sister, waiting for her to answer in the affirmative.
    “What’re you going to do, give a speech?”
    Ryan raised an eyebrow as if considering it, but simply bobbed his head to the music, the bottle’s neck still pointing at her like a