But inside this living room, sitting before her parents, Avery was invisible. To them, she was a dull, grey bird in a cage of peacocks. She was the boring, overly practical daughter who didn’t understand style, didn’t understand high society, and therefore, didn’t understand them.
Across the room sat the golden child of the Sloan dynasty: Chloe. At twenty-seven, Chloe was effortlessly beautiful, painfully shallow, and chronically unemployed. She sat nestled on the silk sofa beside her fiancé, Preston, a third-generation trust-fund baby who wore a patek philippe watch and a permanent smirk.
The center of attention, however, was the Sloan patriarch, Richard. He stood by the fireplace mantel, looking every bit the southern aristocrat in his linen suit. Richard smiled, his chest puffed out with unearned pride as he tapped a silver spoon against his crystal glass.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Richard announced, his booming voice commanding the room. “Easter is about gratitude. It’s about celebrating the abundance of the family. And this year, Sloan House Interiors has had its most profitable quarter yet!”
Chloe squealed, clapping her manicured hands. My mother, Dana, beamed, her throat adorned with a new strand of South Sea pearls.
Avery smiled politely. She knew the truth. Six years ago, Richard’s interior design firm had been two weeks away from absolute, irreversible bankruptcy. He had expanded too quickly, over-leveraged his assets, and was about to lose everything. Avery had stepped in. Silently, without telling her mother or her sister, Avery had used her entire life savings and her immaculate corporate credit to buy the commercial building their showroom operated out of. She had negotiated their debts with hostile suppliers, personally guaranteed their inventory credit lines, and leased the building back to her father at a “family rate” that didn’t even cover the property taxes.
Avery had saved them. But to keep her father’s pride intact, she had never uttered a word.
“To celebrate our success,” Richard continued, gesturing to a pile of beautifully wrapped boxes on the coffee table, “a few gifts for the people who make this family great.”
