“Lighten up! I want the primary bedroom redone the moment we move into your new luxury house,” Brandon announced at Sunday brunch, tapping her fork against her glass like she was making a toast. She didn’t smile.
She didn’t wink. She said it the way you order something you fully expect to receive. Liam, her boyfriend, leaned in with that practiced grin he wears for cameras and strangers.
“It’s only fair,” he said. “We’ll be living there long-term.”
A couple people laughed, like entitlement is harmless when it’s served with eggs and a mimosa tower. My mom did her nervous giggle—her please-don’t-fight laugh.
My aunt made a low sound into her coffee, the kind that means she wants to disappear into the mug. Even the server smiled politely, like she’d heard families say worse things over syrup. I stared at my plate and felt my mouth do the thing it does when I’m about to draw a line and everyone is about to pretend the line isn’t there.
“I’m not planning to have roommates,” I said. Quiet. Firm.
Brandon’s sunglasses hid her eyes, but I saw the tilt of her chin. The tiny pause before she decided how she’d spin it later. Liam rolled his eyes like I’d just announced I hated puppies.
“We’re family,” he said, like those two words erase boundaries the way a hand wipes fog off glass. Everyone laughed again, softer this time, like laughter could patch over a crack. My mom reached across the table and rubbed my wrist.
That touch wasn’t comfort. It was pressure. It was her way of asking me to be the person who makes it smooth.
“We’ll talk,” she whispered. We always “talk.” It usually means I’m the one who gives. Twenty-four hours later, my mom called me, breathless and panicked.
“Oh my God, Catherine… what is she reading to the camera?!”
I was in my car outside the grocery store, sitting in the parking lot with the engine running because I’d promised myself I’d buy vegetables like a stable adult. The air inside the car smelled like my iced coffee and the wintergreen gum I only chew when I’m trying not to spiral. “Who?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“Brandon,” Mom said. “She’s live. She’s reading… numbers.
She’s saying things about your new place and your budget. People are commenting. Catherine, it’s—” Her voice cracked.
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