Chương 9
Victoria placed her handbag on the empty chair beside her.
“I need one month,” she said.
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I know the request.”
“The mortgage is thirty-six hundred.”
“You told me it was thirty-two.”
“Taxes increased.”
“Show me the statement.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t trust me.”
“No.”
The word landed more heavily than Maya expected.
Victoria looked down at the table.
“For one month,” she said again. “Then I’ll reorganize everything.”
“You have emergency savings.”
“Who told you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, Maya. It matters that my friends are reporting my private conversations to you.”
“Do you have six months of mortgage payments saved?”
Victoria’s silence lasted long enough.
“Then use it,” Maya said.
“That money is for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency.”
“No, this is you being angry.”
“It became an emergency because you planned your life around money you said you didn’t need.”
“I never said I didn’t need it.”
“You told people you supported me.”
Victoria’s gaze moved toward the vending machine.
“That was taken out of context.”
“What context makes it true?”
“I helped you after Mom and Dad died.”
“I was twenty-four.”
“You were a mess.”
“I arranged the funeral.”
“You cried every day.”
“So did you.”
“I was eighteen.”
“And I was what? A substitute parent?”
Victoria leaned back.
“This is what you do,” she said. “You make a list of everything you’ve ever done and then act like everyone forced you.”
Maya felt the accusation find its target.
She had made lists. She had remembered favors. She had performed generosity so consistently that resentment had become another kind of recordkeeping.
“No,” she said. “You didn’t force every payment.”
Victoria’s expression shifted, sensing movement.
Maya continued. “I said yes. I kept saying yes because I liked being the person who could fix things. That was mine.”
“Exactly.”
“But you lied to keep me saying yes.”
Victoria looked away.
“You said the promotion had no raise. You said the kitchen renovation was financed. You said you were behind because work was slow. You said the insurance account couldn’t be changed because you had no money.”
“I had money. That doesn’t mean it was available.”
“It was more available than mine.”
“You have savings.”
“I had savings.”
“You’re not poor, Maya.”
“Neither are you.”
A hospital announcement sounded overhead, asking a physician to call an extension.
Victoria rubbed one thumb over the edge of her manicure.
“I worked for that promotion,” she said.
“I know.”
“I spend money because my job requires a certain image.”
“Your job requires champagne satin?”
“My clients notice things.”
“Do they inspect your kitchen?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“You made sure I couldn’t.”
Victoria’s eyes flashed. “You always hated that I wanted more than you.”
Maya looked at her sister’s face.
There it was: the oldest explanation, polished by years of use. Maya was practical because she lacked ambition. Maya disliked expensive things because she could not afford them. Maya’s discomfort at parties was envy rather than exhaustion.
“When did I say I hated it?” Maya asked.
“You didn’t have to.”
“That’s convenient.”
“You make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one you made at the party. Like you were judging everything.”
“I was carrying a cake.”
“You were looking at me like Mom used to.”
The sentence stopped Maya.
Victoria’s eyes filled, not dramatically. Moisture gathered along the lower lashes and remained there.
“What does that mean?” Maya asked.
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
A man at the next table opened a bag of chips. The plastic crackled too loudly.
Victoria lowered her voice.
“Mom could make you feel guilty for enjoying anything she wouldn’t have chosen.”
Maya remembered their mother standing in a department store fitting room while sixteen-year-old Victoria modeled a sequined dress. Their mother had said nothing cruel. She had only asked where Victoria planned to wear it.
Victoria had heard ridicule.
“She worried about money,” Maya said.
“She worried about everything.”
“She died with credit-card debt.”
“Exactly. She spent her whole life afraid.”
“And you decided fear was the only reason not to spend?”
Victoria’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it.”
“I bought the house because I wanted one thing that proved I wasn’t still the girl everyone expected to fall apart.”
“With Helen’s down payment.”
Victoria went still.
Maya saw the truth before her sister spoke.
“You knew,” Maya said.
“Aunt Helen told you.”
“She told me yesterday.”
Victoria looked toward the lobby doors.
“She promised she wouldn’t.”
“You took twenty-five thousand dollars from her and told me the down payment came from your savings.”
“It was a family gift.”
“Then why lie?”
“Because you would’ve looked at me exactly like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like I didn’t earn it.”
“You didn’t.”
Victoria pushed her chair back.
The movement drew a glance from an employee at the next table.
Maya lowered her voice.
“You bought a house you could not afford with Aunt Helen’s money, then used mine to keep it.”
“I can afford it.”
“Then do.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
Victoria stood.
For a moment Maya thought she would leave. Instead she placed both hands on the table and leaned closer.
“You think canceling that payment makes you brave?” she asked. “You did it because Aunt Helen was there. Because my friends were watching. You needed an audience too.”
Maya looked up at her.
The accusation hurt because part of it was true.
She had not planned the scene, but when the phone was in her hand and every eye in the room had turned toward her, anger had made the choice easier. Alone, she might have delayed again.
“I needed witnesses,” Maya said.
Victoria blinked.
“Not an audience. Witnesses. Because when it’s only us, you change what happened.”
“I do not.”
“You called the cake ugly, destroyed it, and told me I was embarrassing myself. Your voicemail said you were drinking and everyone was being weird.”
May you like
“That isn’t changing it.”
“It is shrinking it until you can step over it.”
