Congratulations.
Families don’t invoice each other.”
“I’m not invoicing you.”
“Then what is this?”
“A reminder.”
I turned to the summary page.
“This is what I was already giving you before you demanded half of my new compensation.”
Mom finally glanced at the total again.
“You can afford it now.”
There it was.
Not thank you.
Not we didn’t realize.
You can afford it.
I felt something settle inside me.
For days, a small part of me had wondered whether I had reacted too quickly.
Whether I should have given them one more chance to explain the dinner.
Whether Mom’s percentages had been clumsy excitement.
Whether Dad’s ultimatum had come from anger he didn’t mean.
That sentence answered all of it.
“You think my ability to pay creates your right to receive,” I said.
Mom’s voice sharpened.
“Don’t twist my words.”
“I’m repeating them.”
Dad stepped closer.
“You owe this family respect.”
“I agree.”
That stopped him.
I looked from him to Mom and then to Dani.
“And respect includes not deciding that eighty percent of another adult’s compensation belongs to you.”
Dani scoffed.
“Nobody said forever.”
I looked at her.
“How long?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
“One year? Five? Until you decided I had contributed enough?”
Mom cut in.
“Your sister needs help getting established.”
“She’s twenty-eight.”
“She’s had setbacks.”
“So have I.”
Dani’s cheeks flushed.
“You always do this.
You act like everything was harder for you.”
I almost laughed.
“I didn’t bring you here.”
“We came because you sabotaged everyone!”
That word hung in the doorway.
Sabotaged.
I looked at the three envelopes in Mom’s hand.
“Did I open accounts in your names?”
No answer.
“Did I create the balances?”
Dad said, “Don’t be childish.”
“Did I promise to pay them forever?”
Mom’s mouth tightened.
