“Not bad. About 5 hours from the city.”
“Still in that tiny apartment?” Mom asked, though she knew the answer.
“It works for me.”
“So cramped,” she said with a theatrical sigh. “I don’t know how you manage. Our house in Raleigh has six bedrooms, and sometimes even that feels too small when we’re entertaining.”
“Different priorities,” I said evenly.
My cousin Jessica, Aunt Sarah’s daughter, looked up from her phone.
“Are you still doing that data thing?”
“Data analysis. Yes.”
“Sounds boring,” she said, returning to her screen.
Jessica was 25, worked in marketing for her father’s company, and never missed an opportunity to remind everyone of her MBA from Duke.
“It pays the bills,” I said.
“Barely, I imagine,” Aunt Sarah said with false sympathy. “Those tech jobs are so unstable these days. Harold was just saying how many layoffs there have been in that sector.”
“My company is doing fine,” I said.
“Your company?”
Mom laughed.
“Emily, you work for a company. You don’t own one.”
I could have corrected her.
Could have explained that I’d founded Thompson Analytics 6 years ago, that we’d gone from three employees to 47, that our client list included some of the biggest investment firms on the East Coast.
But I’d learned this lesson already.
They didn’t listen.
“Right,” I said instead, “by mistake.”
The afternoon wore on in the familiar pattern.
My aunts compared their recent purchases: designer handbags, jewelry, cars.
My uncles discussed their golf handicaps and investment portfolios.
My cousins scrolled through their phones and occasionally chimed in with stories about their impressive jobs, expensive apartments, and active social lives.
I mostly listened, offering polite comments when required.
“Dinner is at 7 in the main restaurant,” Mom announced around 6:00. “Make sure you dress appropriately, everyone. This isn’t some casual beach shack. They have standards.”