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“Do you think I’ll ever get a sister?”

I turned away from the stove and looked at Sophie, who was perched on one of the high stools at the island. She had her journal out and was doodling in the margins, her pencil in motion, her attention down on the page.

“Why are you asking?” I glanced back at the stove, checking to see if the water was boiling. It was, so I turned down the burner and replaced the lid.

“I was just curious. I mean, you don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“That’s right.” Thank God. I would not have reacted well if George and Janice had had a kid already in the house when I arrived. Competition was something I didn’t do well with, especially when it threatened the relationships with the people I loved.

“And what about Daddy? Does he have any?”

Her pencil was moving, her eyes on the page, but there was something unnatural about her hyperfocus. This wasn’t a casual conversation. My daughter was trying to figure something out.

“You know he doesn’t.”

She lifted her gaze and put down the pencil. Turning her head, she met my eyes. “Someone told me that he has a famous sister.”

A famous sister. It shouldn’t have irritated me, but it did. Lucy Wultz wasn’t famous. Her name had been a Jeopardy! answer once, and none of the contestants had known who she was. I was probably the only home viewer who had blurted out the answer without hesitation.

“Your father doesn’t like to talk about his sister.” I stepped away from the stove and took the stool next to her, giving her my full attention.

“Did they have a fight?” This, she understood. Her friend group was rife with drama, all over the stupidest things.

“No, they didn’t have a fight. But thinking about her makes him sad.” I smoothed down the left side of her hair, putting it into place.

“Is she an actress?” Sophie bounced a little in her seat at the idea.

“What?” I laughed. “No, she isn’t an actress. Why would you ask that?”

“Every famous person I know of is an actor or actress.”

So much for the fortune we were spending on private school. “People are famous for a lot of things. But I hate to inform you that she isn’t famous. Not really.” Not at all.

Her face fell. “Oh. That’s a bummer.”

“Sorry for disappointing you.” I rose from the stool at the sound of the pot lid, which was beginning to rattle from the steam. “Can you get me a block of pepper jack cheese and the grater?”

“Sure.”

I was adding handfuls of pasta to the pot when she joined me at the counter, the grater and cheese in hand.

“Do you think I could meet her?”

I kept my eye on the pot, flinching when a hot droplet of water splashed on my arm. “I’m not sure, sweetie. Let’s talk to Daddy about it after your birthday, okay?”

“Okay.” She drummed her fingers on the top of the grater. “Do you need any more help? I want to call Mand before dinner.”

“No, you can go on. But, Sophie ...?”

She pivoted back to face me, her journal in hand.

“Don’t talk to your friends about your father’s sister, okay? I don’t want rumors flying around.”

She shrugged. “’Kay.”

’Kay. That’s what this generation had been reduced to. Single-syllable, if not single-letter, responses. I didn’t bother correcting her. I waved her off and watched as she swooped through the arched opening and bounded up the stairs.