And now we were gathered at this family lunch because my mother claimed that “talking face-to-face would bring everyone closer.” In truth, they wanted me to stop asking.
“I only asked for help once,” I said.
Natalie raised her eyebrows.
“Once from each of us. That’s called pressure, Maddie.”
That nickname, once warm to my ears, now sounded like a way of making me smaller. My father set his napkin down on the table.
“You helped before because you had the means. Now it’s time for you to learn humility.”
I nearly laughed. Humility. Coming from them. From the very same people who called me responsible whenever they needed another transfer.
Then my Aunt Ellen came in late, soaked from the rain, carrying a cloth tote bag. She did not order anything. She sat beside me, took out a white envelope, and placed it in front of me.
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