Then Vanessa did.
“You look exactly the same.”
I almost smiled.
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know.”
“Apparently billionaires glow now,” Dad said.
His attempt at humor landed badly.
Mom put down her purse.
“Can we sit?”
“You live here.”
She flinched slightly.
I had not meant it sharply.
Maybe part of me had.
They sat.
Vanessa remained standing for a moment, then took the chair across from me.
Mom folded her hands.
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long have you owned Asteron?”
“I founded it when I was eighteen.”
Dad stared at me.
“Freshman year?”
“Yes.”
“You were running that company while you were in school?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“That is insane.”
“Sometimes.”
Mom looked genuinely hurt.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I did tell you I started a cybersecurity company.”
“No, you said you were doing some computer project.”
“I explained the company.”
“When?”
“Freshman year.”
Mom frowned as if searching her memory.
I watched recognition arrive slowly.
“At Christmas?”
“Thanksgiving.”
Dad looked uncomfortable.
I turned toward him.
“I told you when we signed the government contract.”
He stared at the table.
“The computer thing.”
“Yes. The computer thing.”
Vanessa leaned back.
“But you never said it was Asteron.”
“It barely had a public profile then.”
“You could have told us later.”
“I could have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I thought about answering politely.
Then I decided polite was not the same as honest.
“Because you weren’t interested.”
Mom sat up.
“That is not fair.”
“Okay.”
“No. You can’t say something like that and just say okay.”
“What would you like me to say?”
“We have always supported you.”
I looked at her.
“Mom, you missed my college graduation.”
Her face changed.
“The trip was already booked.”
“My graduation date was announced before you booked it.”
Vanessa immediately jumped in.
“So this is what it’s really about.”
I turned toward her.
“What is?”
“You’re punishing us because we went to Europe.”
I almost admired how quickly she reached that conclusion.
“How am I punishing you?”
“You embarrassed us.”
Dad looked at her.
“Vanessa.”
“No, she did. Everyone knew except us.”
“Not everyone knew.”
“That makes it worse.”
“How?”
“Because strangers knew more about your life than your own family.”
I leaned back.
“That should bother you.”
“It does.”
“Then maybe ask yourself why it happened.”
She stared at me.
Mom spoke quietly.
“We asked about your life.”
“No, you asked whether school was going well.”
“That’s part of your life.”
“Yes.”
“What else were we supposed to ask?”
I looked at Dad.
“When I told you I had signed a major cybersecurity contract, what did you ask me?”
His face tightened.
“I don’t remember.”
“I do.”
Nobody spoke.
“You asked whether I was still coming to Vanessa’s rehearsal.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Keep a scorecard.”
“I don’t have to keep one. I remember my own life.”
“You act like nobody ever cared about you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re making us sound horrible.”
“I didn’t say that either.”
Mom looked close to tears.
“Then what are you saying?”