Chapter 2 - The Audacity of Whitney
"Meredith, that is entirely completely different and you know it!" Mom screamed, her control slipping away entirely. "Whitney treated us to that dinner! It was a gift! She wanted to celebrate her husband's new promotion! We didn't spend a single dime of our own money on that meal!"
"Oh, really?" I laughed, a bitter, dry sound that surprised even me. "Whitney treated you? So Whitney has nine hundred dollars to drop on oysters, wagyu beef, and vintage wine for a table of six, but whenever Dad needs a brake line replaced on his truck, or your roof has a leak, suddenly Whitney's accounts are tied up in private school tuition? You canceled your only grandson's tenth birthday for a free dinner."
"He's not our only grandson!" Mom snapped reflexively, and the moment the words left her mouth, she choked on them.
"Right," I whispered, feeling the last microscopic shred of daughterly guilt dissolve into nothingness. "He's just the grandson you hide in the shadows because he doesn't play varsity lacrosse or wear designer polo shirts. Well, Mom, from now on, you can ask Whitney's husband to write a check for twenty-three hundred and eighty dollars. Let him cover your mortgage every single month like I've done for the past two years."
Before she could form another excuse, I ended the call and blocked her number on my cell phone.
Ten minutes later, Grant’s phone lit up on the counter. It was Whitney. Grant picked it up, pressed speaker, and held it between us.
"Grant, put my sister on the phone right now!" Whitney barked, her voice dripping with the arrogant entitlement she had perfected since high school. "What kind of vindictive, childish game is she playing? Mom is in absolute hysterics on the living room floor, and Dad's blood pressure is through the roof! Did Meredith seriously cancel their mortgage transfer over a missed birthday dinner? She's acting like an unhinged lunatic!"
Grant didn't raise his voice. He leaned down toward the microphone, his tone dropping an octave, deadly and firm. "Listen to me very carefully, Whitney. For twenty-four straight months, Meredith has quietly transferred fifty-seven thousand dollars of our household savings into your parents' mortgage escrow so they wouldn't lose the childhood home you brag about inheriting. She never asked for a penny back. She never asked for praise. All she asked was for your parents to show up for two hours, eat a bowl of spaghetti, and watch her son blow out ten candles."
Whitney went dead silent on the other end. "Wait... what? Fifty-seven thousand?"
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"Yes, Whitney," Grant said coldly. "Your mother swore Meredith to secrecy because she was too proud to let you know they were broke. But since you're the favorite daughter with the high-earning husband who loves posting multi-course steak dinners on Instagram, the torch has officially been passed to you. The payment is due by five p.m. tomorrow before the late penalty triples. Have a wonderful family day."
He ended the call without waiting for an answer.
