She tilted her head, eyes searching mine for the crack she could pry open. “Are you really going to reject your family’s love? Has success made your heart that cold?”
Family’s love.
The laugh finally escaped me, short and sharp. A few people in the living room turned their heads.
“Writing on someone else’s success so you can live rent-free in an upscale neighborhood,” I said, “isn’t love, Mom. It’s parasitism.”
The word landed like a slap. Silence rolled through the room, thick and oppressive. Kristen’s face flushed; my mother’s eyes widened with offended disbelief. My father’s jaw tightened so hard I saw the muscle jump.
My mother forced an awkward smile, turning slightly toward the relatives as if to reassure them this was normal, this was fine, please keep enjoying the charcuterie.
“Denise,” she hissed under her breath, grabbing my arm with fingers that looked gentle but squeezed hard. “Everyone is watching. Let’s not argue here. Why don’t we step out into the hallway? If we talk quietly as a family, I’m sure you’ll… understand.”