“Of course, of course,” Marlene replied quickly. But her smile said the opposite. “We all do what we can with what we have. Although, well, some of us have more than others.”
Silence. A silence so thick you could cut it with a knife. No one defended me. No one said, “Hey, that was out of line.” No one.
Marlene continued eating now with more enthusiasm. Between bites, she started talking about her life, her accomplishments, about everything she had achieved, as if she needed to constantly highlight the difference between her and me.
“We just closed on the new condo,” she announced, looking at her parents with pride. “Three bedrooms, park view, 12th floor. It cost $450,000, but Michael and I decided it was worth the investment.”
Her father raised his glass. “Let’s toast to that. To success, to the future.”
Everyone raised their glasses—except me, of course. I didn’t have a glass, just my glass of water, which now seemed to mock me with its transparency.
“And the best part,” Marleene continued, “is that we’ll finally have the space we always wanted. No interruptions, no unexpected visits, no having to worry about accommodating people who just show up unannounced.”