My sister seated my daughter at an “Economy Class” table while her children got

Chapter 2

Her Cruel Family Game Finally Turned My Generosity Against Me

Hudson received tens because he was eleven and nobody wanted to emotionally destroy a child before ham. Paisley received tens for essentially the same reason. Grandma awarded herself a ten in every category and threatened to revise her will if anyone disagreed, which was the healthiest behavior in the room.

Kyle went next. Career prestige, seven. Education, eight. Parenting, nine. Style, six.

Brenda frowned. “Six?”

Uncle Dennis shrugged. “Those shorts you wore last summer.”

Kyle nodded solemnly. “That’s fair.”

Then Brenda rated herself.

She hadn’t technically worked in years but described herself as a “lifestyle consultant,” a profession that appeared to involve criticizing restaurants online and rearranging throw pillows.

She gave herself a nine for career prestige.

Mom gave her ten.

Dad gave her nine.

Grandma raised a four.

Brenda stared. “Four?”

“You borrowed curtain money from me.”

“That was temporary.”

“It was 2022.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Grandma sipped her drink. “Not at a job.”

I nearly choked.

Then Brenda smiled.

“Next, Joel.”

Mia leaned toward me. “Destroy her.”

“We’re Christians today.”

She nodded seriously. “Destroy her peacefully.”

I walked to the front.

Brenda tapped the career-prestige category. “Well, everybody knows what Joel does.”

A few people chuckled.

Then she pulled an enormous pink novelty nail file from behind the whiteboard.

Across it, in glittering letters, she had written JOEL’S CORPORATE LADDER.

The room erupted.

Mia didn’t.

Brenda waved the giant file like a sword. “Our little weirdo with a nail file.”

Mom laughed reluctantly. Dad laughed harder. Uncle Dennis slapped his knee.

I smiled at Brenda.

“Nice prop.”

“Oh, come on. It’s funny.”

“It is.”

That surprised her.

Then the voting began.

Brenda gave my career prestige a three.

Mom gave me five.

Dad gave me four.

Uncle Dennis gave me two.

Aunt Claire held up nine.

Brenda stared at her. “Nine?”

“He owns the business.”

“But it’s nails.”

“He still owns it.”

Brenda laughed. “Fine. Useful adult skills. Should emergency cuticle repair count?”

“Only if emergency lease payment counts.”

The room went briefly silent.

Brenda recovered fast.

“Oh, Joel. Money doesn’t equal masculinity.”

“I didn’t mention masculinity.”

“You’re getting defensive.”

“I said six words.”

Mia leaned toward Grandma. “He’s not getting how he gets.”

Grandma whispered much louder than necessary, “Your aunt is an idiot sometimes.”

I had to look away.

But the scorecards were only the setup.

When everyone finished, Brenda totaled the points and announced that the rankings would determine our “travel class” for dinner.

“Our what?” I asked.

She opened the dining-room doors.

The main table was beautiful. Gold-rimmed dishes, crystal glasses, flowers, linen napkins, and little printed place cards. Above it hung FIRST CLASS.

Hudson.

Paisley.

Mom.

Dad.

Brenda.

Kyle.

Grandma.

Uncle Dennis.

Aunt Claire.

Almost everyone.

In the corner beside the kitchen sat a folding table.

Plastic plates.

Paper cups.

Two chairs.

A sign read ECONOMY CLASS.

The place cards read JOEL and MIA.

For a few seconds, I assumed this had to be the final joke before Brenda announced we were all eating together.

Instead, she walked over and pulled out Mia’s chair.

“Your seats, passengers.”

Mia stared at her. “Seriously?”

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s just a game.”

Hudson laughed.

Mia’s cheeks turned red.

That was the line.

Brenda could mock me all day. I’d heard jokes about nail polish, masculinity, manicures, and beauty salons for fifteen years. Sometimes I painted my own nails. They looked excellent.

But Mia was nine.

She had done nothing.

“Why is Mia sitting here?” I asked.

“Family units share rankings.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Children inherit the travel category of their parent.”

“You created hereditary Easter poverty?”

Aunt Claire snorted.

Brenda rolled her eyes. “Stop making everything dramatic.”

“You established a holiday caste system beside a ham.”

Grandma laughed openly.

Kyle covered his mouth.

Brenda’s smile tightened. “It’s supposed to teach the children that choices have consequences.”

Mia looked at me.

“What choice did I make?”

“Apparently you selected me as your father during character creation.”

She nodded. “I should’ve read the reviews.”

Grandma nearly fell out of her chair.

Dinner began anyway.

I sat beside Mia at the folding table because there was no universe in which my daughter would sit there alone while I joined the people laughing at her.

The first-class table was only six feet away.

Brenda made those six feet feel like a customs checkpoint.

“First class gets glazed carrots first,” she announced.

Later, “Sparkling cider is reserved for first-class passengers.”

Mia looked at our paper cups. “What do we get?”

I inspected the pitcher.

“Tap water.”

“Do we at least get ice?”

“Let’s not bankrupt the airline.”

She laughed.

I was grateful for it.

Then Brenda distributed dessert menus.

Actual printed menus.

First class could choose cheesecake, chocolate mousse, or lemon tart.

Economy received seasonal fruit.

Mia read the card.

“What fruit?”

Brenda smiled.

“Bananas.”

Mia slowly turned toward me.

“We’ve been defeated.”

“I know.”

“By potassium.”

I almost lost it.

Then Brenda stood at the head of the main table and tapped her glass.

Kyle closed his eyes.

“I just want to say something,” she began. “We’ve had a lot of laughs today, especially about Joel’s unconventional career. But I actually think it’s wonderful that he’s comfortable doing something so feminine.”

The laughter faded into uncomfortable smiles.

She continued.

“Not every man needs a traditional job. Someone has to do our nails.”

I picked up my fork.

“Correct.”

She looked at Kyle. “Although if my husband ever came home and said he wanted to become a manicurist, babe, we’d probably need to rethink some things.”

Kyle stared at his plate.

Then Brenda raised her glass.

“To Joel. Proof that even the family weirdo with a nail file can find his niche.”

People laughed.

Enough people.

I looked at Mia.

Then at the giant FIRST CLASS sign.

Then at the dining room.

Then at the sister whose $4,200 lease payment was scheduled to leave my account Monday morning.

Something inside me stopped being angry.

It became arithmetic.

I carefully put down my fork.

Then I reached for my phone.