I knew my sisters felt differently but I enjoyed Sunday dinner at our parents’ house.

While the meals were a tradition, it was far and few between that all of us would find ourselves together at one table, Maya citing some spiritual retreat or Yvette being weighed down on some taxing case which seeped into her weekend.

I always made the time to drive out to Minnesott Beach, no matter the weather.

A small part of me worried about my parents.

I had reached a place where I knew they were not going to be around forever and I wanted to spend as much time with them while I had the chance.

Of course, I would never say such a thing aloud; I may have accepted my own mortality but I don’t think they were quite there yet.

They were still young, after all, virile, active and working in their respective fields.

My mother was a supply teacher for the school board and my father was consultant for a pharmaceutical company based out of Durham.

My mother did not carry a single grey hair on her auburn head and the only time I caught the slightest hint of a wrinkle on her kind face was when she grinned her impish smile and the corners of her emerald eyes lit up.

I was the spitting image of my father but he had a much more distinguished air.

His fine blonde hair was salted with white and his blue eyes blazed cerulean and against fair skin.

I had also inherited my height from him as he towered above the rest of us at an imposing six feet six inches.

Thankfully, I was not quite as looming but I had finally capped my height at five eleven in my sophomore year of high school.

I pulled my white Mazda 6 up to the ranch-style home and stifled a sigh as I noted my sisters’ vehicles were not there.

It looked like I was going to be the only daughter present again.

As I exited the car, I glanced about the immaculately kept front lawn and peered down the road hopefully.

I had texted Maya earlier and she vowed to show but my just-younger sister often forgot things, especially if something more appealing was to come along and distract her.

Something like a man in a pair of tight denim pants and a tank top, I thought.

Sometimes I felt like I was seven years older than Maya, not seven minutes.

I often wondered how she did it both physically and psychologically.

The tales my sister would regale me with often made me blush for days afterward.

I could never understand how three women who had shared the same space in the same womb had so little in common.

Yvette was no different with her strict career focus, without time for anything else but the downfall of other people’s marriages.

How are we even related, let alone triplets? I wondered.

I imagine they pondered the same about me.

“Vyolet!”

I turned to greet my mother, my smile fading as I examined the expression on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my pulse quickening. “Is it dad?”

Mom shook her head as she rushed in to hug me.

“No no, your father is fine,” she said quickly. “It’s Uncle Evan.”

I stared at her for a long minute, trying to reconcile who she meant.

“Uncle Evan?” I echoed. We had no such relative that I could remember.

“Dad’s friend from Northwestern?” my mom reminded me, and I instantly recalled the tall man in my mind.

“Oh!” I gasped. “Evan Collier?”

Mom nodded, linking her arm to mine.

“Yes,” she sighed. “His sister passed away yesterday in a terrible car accident with her husband.”

“Oh,” I breathed. “That’s terrible! Don’t they have a little girl?”

“She was not in the car, thank God,” mom replied, her eyes clouding over with tears. “But the poor child is an orphan now.”

Evan had been around for much of our childhood. He was our dad’s best friend from college he had always been pleasant to us.

The memories were fleeting though, as he had packed up and moved to Washington state for some extremely well-paying job as a computer analyst or programmer – something technical.

I hadn’t seen him in probably twelve years.

As we entered the house, I saw dad sitting on the sofa in the living room, his ear pressed to the cordless phone.

He was deep in quiet conversation and glanced up to offer me a half smile but there was no joy in his expression as he continued his conversation.

“Has he come back for the funeral?” I whispered to mom, following her to the kitchen.

The walls were littered with school photos of us from Kindergarten to college, our most awkward stages on display for all the world to see.

“Yes,” mom replied. “But he has also had guardianship of his young niece now.”

I slipped onto a stool at the island, reaching over the chopping board for a stray carrot.

“Oh wow,” I murmured, sympathy for the man jolting through me. “Does he have any kids of his own?”

Mom shook her head, retrieving her kitchen knife and continuing to prepare the veggies.

“No,” she sighed. “He never did marry.”

“I wonder why not. He was good looking for an older guy,” I commented, crunching on the carrot.

Mom scowled slightly, her brow creasing in mock anger.

“For ‘an older guy’?” she echoed. “He’s the same age as your father!”

“And dad looks good too!” I protested, embarrassment tinging my cheeks pink.

Dad joined us in the kitchen, his face grave.

“Hi sweetheart,” he said, giving me a peck on the cheek before turning to his attention fully to mom. “I told Evan to come over tonight, Amelia.”

“Of course he should!” mom cried. “Has he picked up Alex already?”

Dad nodded.

“Yes,” he replied. “She’s coming also.”

I bit on my lower lip, unsure of what to say.

“Sorry, daddy,” I finally managed. “That is terrible news.”

“Charlie and Jocelyn were such good people,” dad said sadly, hugging me close to him. “Jocelyn made it a point to drop off Christmas cookies every year. Why do the good always die young?”

Again, I had no answer for him, but I was again forced with the thought of how fleeting life could be.

“How is Alex holding up?” mom asked, brushing aside a stray wisp of auburn hair from her forehead.

“I don’t think she knows what is happening. I mean, how do you explain to a child that young that she’ll never see her parents again?” dad sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t even imagine what the poor child is going through.”

“Wow, who died?” Maya chirped, whirling into the kitchen, a devious grin upon her tanned face. “You all look like you’re at a wake in here.”

I shook my head wildly, waving my hands to stop her but the damage was already done.

“Jocelyn and Charlie Sumac,” dad retorted, a slight anger in his tone.

Instantly, Maya looked contrite.

“Oh shit, sorry, daddy. I didn’t think someone actually died or else I wouldn’t have said that. Obviously.”

She grinned disarmingly but I could see that daddy didn’t appreciate her half apology.

Maya slipped onto the stool beside me and whispered in my ear.

“Who the hell are Joyce and Chuckie Smack?” she asked.

“I’ll fill you in later,” I murmured back, my attention on my parents.

“Girls, help finish setting the table,” mom instructed. “Yvette isn’t coming tonight.”

I could hear the disappointment in her tone but it was really no surprise to any of us.

It was always a surprise when Yvette did manage to show for Sunday dinner.

“Come on,” I urged Maya and we wandered into the dining room to lay out the silverware.

“What was that about?” Maya chirped when she thought we were out of hearing range.

“Remember Uncle Evan? Evan Collier?”

Maya’s green eyes brightened instantly.

“Do I ever!” she chortled. “He was the most handsome man I had ever seen until I was seventeen.”

I eyed her with mild disgust.

“Maya, he’s dad’s age!” I reminded her. “How can you say that?”

She laughed in that teasing way of hers and shook her messy auburn waves playfully.

“Older men are better at everything, Vy. Trust me.”

I ignored her innuendo, trying not to blush scarlet. If she caught me with red cheeks, she wouldn’t let it go for the rest of the night.

“Anyway,” I continued quickly. “His sister and her husband were killed in a car accident yesterday. He’s coming over.”

Maya grunted softly.

“I don’t mean to sound insensitive but if I had known that this place was going to be all doom and gloom today, I would have opted out. The energy is already bad. Throwing more grief into the mix won’t do anything for our auras.”

I glared at her.

“Maya, you sound like a jerk,” I scolded her. “God forbid someone close to you dies and your friends treat you the same way in your moments of grief.”

She looked at me, genuine surprise in her eyes.

“Many friends of mine have passed,” she replied sincerely. “Death is a part of life, a rite of passage. You cannot grieve the loss of people. You must celebrate their lives.”

I knew pursuing a debate would be useless but I was saved from doing so because the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” I called automatically.

I don’t know why I volunteered. Surely my dad wanted to see his long-time friend and would have some wisdom to bestow upon him as he opened the door.

It was just that Maya was merely making me uncomfortable with her new age thinking and I wanted to be away from her Zen and meditation talk while I had the opportunity.

I barreled through the dining room, around the opposite side of the foyer to open the front door.

The first thing I noticed was his eyes.

They were the color of granite and rimmed in red but I was certain I had never seen such an alluring shade of grey in my life.

Shadowed by almost impossibly long, black lashes, I found myself fixated on those irises as if he had cast a spell on me with his stare.

Evan was much taller than I remembered him being, nearly the same height as my dad, something I found interesting as I was forced to look up at him. It was something I didn’t often do with other people.

I also did not recall his rugged attractiveness.

A five o’clock scruff pricked his face and his mouth seemed drawn into a melancholic pout which, given the circumstance, was sexy and not petulant.

My breath caught in my chest for a long minute as our gazes locked, neither of us speaking.

“Can we come inside?” a small voice piped up and my eyes fell downward where a small brunette stood staring up at me with intense brown irises.

“Yes!” I gasped, humiliated that I had left them standing there for so long. “Please, come in.”

I stepped aside to allow them into the foyer, smiling softly at the girl.

“You must be Alex,” I said, lowering myself to her level. She nodded and eyed me suspiciously.

“Yes,” she replied quickly. “I don’t know you and I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“I am Vyolet,” I told her. “Your uncle and my dad are very good friends so we’re almost family. See? Now we aren’t strangers anymore.”

I offered her an outstretched palm and she took it tentatively.

“I think that I may have some dolls and books in my old room for you to play with, Alex,” I continued. “I will take you there in a minute if you want.”

She nodded eagerly and glanced at her uncle for confirmation.

My gaze moved upward toward Evan and he seemed unable to stop looking at me.

“You are Vyolet?” he breathed, and I almost had to strain to hear him.

I slowly rose to my full height and nodded.

“It has been a long time, Uncle Evan,” I replied quietly, choking on the word “uncle.” I could not associate the barrel-chested man standing before me as any relation to me, no matter what I had just said to Alex. The rising temperature of my body did not feel remotely like platonic affection.

I cleared my throat and looked away, certain that my thoughts were plain as the nose on my face.

“I am sorry for your loss,” I mumbled, glancing at him through a wall of fine blonde hair covering my cheek.

“Evan! Alex!” dad boomed, rounding the corner with mom at his side.

Guiltily, I stepped back and watched as my parents embraced their friend.

All right, I told myself, inhaling sharply. That is enough of that.

I spun to escape the front room before embarrassing myself further but before I could take a step, Maya stood in the doorway of the salon, blocking my path.

Her arms were folded beneath her pert breasts and she grinned, winking at me coyly.

“He doesn’t seem that old now, does he?” she mocked me, causing my face to stain crimson.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hissed, furtively looking to ensure that no one else heard her.

Maya chortled and grabbed my hand, skipping me playfully back to the dining room.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” she giggled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that particular shade of red on you before.”

“Shame on you,” I muttered angrily, pulling out the silverware from the china hutch. “Your mind is always on sex. The man is in mourning and you’re checking him out!”

But as I continued to lay out the forks and knives, I wondered if I was chiding my sister or myself.