At 4:17 on Christmas Eve, I walked up my parents’ driveway carrying groceries and watched one of my bras float down from my second-story bedroom window and land across the antlers of their inflatable reindeer.
Chapter 2
Christmas morning at Grandma’s was peaceful.
We ate cinnamon rolls. She gave me thick wool socks. I gave her expensive perfume she pretended was unnecessary and immediately put on.
At nine, Mom called.
I didn’t answer.
At 9:03, Vanessa called.
I didn’t answer.
At 9:12, Dad texted.
Merry Christmas. Your mother is upset. Vanessa did her own makeup. Things are not going well.
I replied:
Manifest symmetry.
Dad sent a thumbs-up.
According to him, Vanessa’s planned “ethereal winter goddess” look developed structural difficulties. She applied enough highlighter to become visible from low orbit and attached one false eyelash higher than the other.
Dad said one eye looked like it was trying to leave the party early.
Mom told him to stop laughing.
His face apparently continued without permission.
I didn’t care.
Grandma and I had something else to discuss.
There was a commercial building ten minutes outside downtown Hartford that I had visited three times.
Tall windows. High ceilings. Two private rooms. Enough space for makeup stations, bridal parties, small classes, photography, storage, and an actual office.
I could afford the monthly expenses.
The down payment was the problem.
Grandma’s gift solved it.
On December 26, I called the realtor.
December 27, I toured the property again.
December 28, I submitted an offer.
December 30, we reached an agreement.
That afternoon, Vanessa called.
“Are you still mad?”
“Hello to you too.”
“Well?”
“I’m not mad.”
“Good.”
“I’m done.”
Silence.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not arguing anymore.”
“Mom thinks you owe everybody an apology for leaving Christmas.”
I looked around my apartment.
Three clothing racks crowded the living room because everything I had stored at my parents’ house now lived with me.
My silver jacket hung over a floor lamp.
“You threw my clothes out a window.”
“You keep saying that like I burned them.”
“You threw suede boots into snow.”
“Snow is frozen water.”
I closed my eyes.
My sister had discovered a loophole in precipitation.
“How many outfits are you taking to Tulum?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“How many?”
Silence.
“Vanessa.”
“Twenty-six.”
“For seven days.”
“I need options.”
“You have too many clothes anyway.”
Another silence.
Perfect.
“That’s different.”
“It is exactly the same sentence.”
She hung up.
On New Year’s Eve, Grandma transferred the money.
At midnight, while fireworks burst outside my apartment windows, I signed documents for the studio.
I didn’t tell my family.
Grandma had asked me to keep the gift private until the transfer was complete, and frankly, I had no desire to invite commentary.
January 2, Mom called.
“Can you come over?”
“No.”
“Vanessa leaves tomorrow. We have a luggage situation.”
I looked around my future studio while a contractor measured the walls.
“What kind of situation?”
“She has too much luggage.”
I looked up at the ceiling.
“And?”
“Your father won’t drive separately with the second suitcase.”
“Why would he?”
“She needs help.”
“She has too many clothes anyway.”
Mom went quiet.
“That’s childish.”
“Then she should throw half out a window.”
Mom hung up.
That afternoon, Grandma accidentally called me while intending to call Mom.
This happened often because Grandma treated smartphone contact lists as a game of chance.
“I meant to call your mother.”
“Want me to conference her in?”
“Yes.”
When Mom answered, Grandma said, “Linda, bring Robert over at three. I’m updating financial paperwork.”
Mom’s voice immediately changed.
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m eighty-two. Define okay.”
At three, I arrived at Grandma’s house.
Dad’s car was there.
So was Vanessa’s.
She was seated in the living room wearing one of her Tulum outfits and holding a hat large enough to interfere with air traffic.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Grandma invited me.”
“Why?”
“Financial paperwork.”
Vanessa suddenly became very alert.
Grandma entered carrying a folder.
“I prefer facts to gossip,” she began. “So I will tell everyone this once.”
Dad whispered, “That sounds ominous.”
Grandma heard him.
“It depends on who you are.”
Then she explained the accounts.
Mom’s eyes widened.
“You and Dad created investments for both girls?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Linda.”
“What?”
“Ask whether I want tea before asking how much money I have.”
Vanessa skipped straight past etiquette.
“When do I get mine?”
Grandma looked at her.
“You don’t.”
The room became silent.
Vanessa blinked.
“What?”
“I said you don’t.”
Mom leaned forward.
“Mom, what do you mean?”
Grandma turned toward me.
“I gave Matilda hers.”
Every face swung in my direction.
Dad’s eyebrows rose.
Mom looked stunned.
Vanessa looked offended on a cellular level.
“You gave her money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
Grandma folded her hands.
“It is a short word. You may simply be unfamiliar with it.”
Dad looked toward the fireplace because his shoulders had started shaking.
Vanessa pointed at me.
“So she gets rewarded for putting makeup on people?”
Grandma’s expression changed.
“She built a business.”
“She paints faces.”
“And people wait five months and pay substantial money for her to do it.”
“I’m an entrepreneur too.”
“You purchased supplies.”
“My candle company—”
“You sold twelve candles.”
“Twelve is customers.”
“Three were relatives.”
Dad coughed.
Vanessa glared at him.
Grandma continued.
“Matilda works. She saves. She pays employees. She maintains clients. She plans beyond next Tuesday.”
“I plan.”
“You packed twenty-six outfits for seven days.”
Vanessa slowly looked at me.
“You told her?”
“I tell Grandma many things.”
“Traitor.”
Mom intervened.
“This isn’t about Christmas, surely.”
“No,” Grandma said. “I decided in October that Matilda was ready.”
Vanessa’s face relaxed slightly.
“So my money is still coming later.”
“No.”
Her smile vanished.
Grandma continued.
“I had intended the second account eventually for you. I no longer intend that.”
Mom immediately protested.
“You can’t change something this important over one argument between sisters.”
“They did not have an argument.”
Grandma’s voice remained calm.
“One granddaughter threw another granddaughter’s belongings out a second-story window because she wanted closet space.”
“That isn’t exactly what happened,” Mom said.
Grandma looked at me.
“Did your clothes leave through the window?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Vanessa.
“Did you put them through the window?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“Yes, but—”
Grandma turned toward Mom.
“Did you tell Matilda she had too many clothes anyway?”
Mom stared at the rug.
Grandma nodded.
“That appears to be exactly what happened.”
Dad smiled.
Mom saw him.
“Robert.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face has rights.”
It was possibly the finest sentence my father had ever spoken.
Vanessa stood.
“So you’re giving Matilda my money?”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing with it?”
“Keeping it.”
“For how long?”
“Until I decide otherwise.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Grandma shrugged.
“You have too much money anyway.”
Dad lost control.
He barked out a laugh and disguised it badly as a cough.
I had to bite my cheek.
Vanessa’s eyes filled.
“You’re punishing me for one mistake.”
“No. I’m observing you after twenty-eight years of field research.”
That did it.
I laughed.
Dad laughed.
Even Grandma smiled.
Vanessa slammed her purse onto her shoulder.
“This family is toxic.”
“Possibly,” Grandma said. “But property damage remains property damage.”
“I didn’t damage anything.”
“My boots,” I said.
“Oh my God, Matilda. Enough about the boots.”
Grandma raised one finger.
“How much did you reimburse her?”
Vanessa stopped.
“How much did cleaning cost?”
Silence.
“Did you apologize?”
Nothing.
“Did you help retrieve anything from the yard?”
Nothing.
Grandma nodded.
“And that is why the account stays mine.”
Vanessa grabbed her giant hat and headed for the door.
The brim struck the frame.
Her body continued.
Her head snapped backward.
Dad made a sound like a broken accordion.
“Stop laughing!” Vanessa shouted.
That only made it worse.
“I hope you’re happy,” she snapped at me.
“I bought a studio.”
Everyone stopped.
Mom blinked.
“You what?”
“I bought a commercial studio.”
Dad straightened.
“The old photography space on Glendale Avenue?”
“Yes.”
“That place is huge.”
“I know.”
Mom looked toward Grandma.
“You used the money for the down payment?”
“Yes.”
Grandma nodded approvingly.
Vanessa stood in the doorway clutching her hat.
“So she gets a building and I get nothing?”
Grandma looked at her.
“You get Tulum.”
Vanessa slammed the door.
Three seconds later, something rolled across the front yard.
Her giant hat.
It bounced through the snow, crossed the sidewalk, and entered the neighbor’s property.
Dad stared through the window.
“Should somebody help her?”
Grandma sipped her tea.
“She has too many hats anyway.”
