“Still answering phones?” Dad asked.
Aunt Diane nearly choked on her water.
I put down my fork.
“I’m Director of Client Strategy.”
Dad blinked.
“Oh.”
Diane stared at him.
“Her name and title are on the firm’s leadership page.”
Vanessa immediately interrupted.
“Grant’s father offered me a position, but I told him I need emotional recovery time.”
Mom reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Of course you do.”
There it was.
The spotlight restored.
I should have let the dinner continue.
I almost did.
Then Vanessa leaned back and announced, “I’m thinking about buying a place in Manhattan.”
Mom brightened.
“We can help with the down payment.”
“Nothing ridiculous,” Vanessa said. “Just somewhere with great light, hardwood floors, maybe a home office.”
She named a budget that wouldn’t buy much beyond a small studio in several Manhattan neighborhoods.
I made the mistake of saying, “Manhattan’s more expensive than you think.”
Vanessa gave me a dismissive smile.
“Mom and Dad will help.”
Grandma looked at me.
“You’ve studied real estate, haven’t you?”
“A little.”
“Have you ever invested?”
The table suddenly felt too quiet.
I took a sip of water.
“I bought a condo several years ago.”
Dad froze.
“You bought property?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told us?”
“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
Vanessa laughed.
“Let me guess. Some tiny studio in the middle of nowhere?”
“Two bedrooms. I renovated it and sold it after the neighborhood appreciated.”
Aunt Diane nodded.
“Smart.”
Grandma’s eyes sharpened.
“And what did you do with the profit?”
I looked around the table.
Mom had finally stopped watching Vanessa.
Dad was staring at me.
Vanessa’s smile had disappeared.
For eighteen months, I’d kept one decision completely protected from them.
Then I heard myself say, “I put it into another property.”
Mom leaned forward.
“What kind of property?”
I could have changed the subject.
Instead, I answered.
“A penthouse.”
Nobody moved.
“In Manhattan.”
Dad’s fork slipped from his fingers and hit the plate with a sharp metallic crack.
And Vanessa’s face changed before my eyes.
### Part 5
For several seconds, the only sound was music drifting from somewhere near the bar.
Vanessa stared at me.
Then she laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because disbelief was easier than accepting what she’d heard.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“A Manhattan penthouse?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Mom, expecting her to laugh too.
Mom didn’t.
Dad finally spoke.
“Where?”
“Central Park West.”
His face went blank.
Grandma slowly leaned back in her chair.
Diane’s eyebrows rose.
Vanessa’s voice got louder.
“What do you mean Central Park West?”
“The building finishes next month.”
“How big?”
I should have stopped answering.
Instead I said, “A little under three thousand square feet. Three bedrooms. Three and a half baths.”
Vanessa’s palm hit the table.
Glasses jumped.
“This isn’t fair!”
Several people at nearby tables turned toward us.
Mom whispered, “Vanessa.”
She ignored her.
“You got a penthouse while I’m stuck living with Mom and Dad!”
Something inside me finally snapped.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
It was quieter than that.
Like a rope stretched for thirty years finally separating fiber by fiber.
I looked directly at her.