“We need to talk.”
I stared at Chloe’s message while my phone kept vibrating against the kitchen counter.
Mom was calling again.
Dad had sent, “Please answer.”
Aunt Denise had written, “Is this real?”
Another cousin had simply sent three question marks.
But I kept looking at Chloe’s name.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally another message came through.
“Don’t answer Mom yet.
Please.”
That was the first thing anyone in my family had said all night that made me sit down.
I typed, “Why?”
Chloe called immediately.
I almost let it ring out.
Then I remembered her expression in the backyard—eyes lowered, shoulders tucked in, accepting applause while Mom announced that she was the daughter who loved her family.
I answered.
“Talk.”
For a second, all I heard was breathing.
Then Chloe said, “She’s losing it.”
“Good.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She went quiet.
I could hear voices behind her, doors closing, somebody saying my name.
They were still at Mom’s house.
The party had apparently stopped being a party.
“She says you’re trying to humiliate her,” Chloe said.
I laughed once, but there was nothing funny in it.
“That’s interesting.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because an hour ago she humiliated me in front of fifty-two people, Chloe, and you sat there.”
Silence.
“You let her say I had never done a thing.”
“I froze.”
“You smiled.”
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“You could have told the truth.”
That landed.
I heard her exhale.
“I should have.”
I didn’t answer.
On my screen, Mom’s missed calls climbed into double digits.
Chloe said, more quietly, “I didn’t know it was that much.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What did you think it was?”
“I knew about the tuition.
Some of it.
And I knew you’d helped Mom with bills sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“That’s what she told me.”
I stood and walked back to the counter where the folder was still open.
