Vanessa had always worked this way. She made the announcement first, then relied on everyone being too embarrassed to say no. This time, she had mailed invitations to eighty-four guests in gold lettering that said: Hosted with love by Aunt Claire.
I was Aunt Claire.
“No,” I said again. “I didn’t agree to host anything.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled at once. Not from pain. From calculation. “You know Mason’s been through a lot.”
“He had braces put on,” I said. “That is not a medical tragedy.”
Mom let her fork fall. “Claire, don’t be cruel.” Conflictresolution services
I looked at her, calm in a way I had not felt in years. “Cruel is using a child as an invoice.”
Vanessa shot up so quickly her chair scraped the floor. “You make more than all of us. You live alone. You don’t even have kids.”
