Chapter 8 - The Great Family Summit
In late July, Mom announced she wanted to host a family dinner at their house.
Not a holiday. Not a crisis management summit. Just a Sunday roast.
"Should we wear hard hats?" Oliver joked as we drove through our old suburban neighborhood, noting how clean and quiet my parents' lawn looked without a single plastic snowman in sight.
"Just emotional body armor," I replied, squeezing his hand.
When we walked through the front door, the atmosphere was remarkably serene. Trevor was there, standing awkwardly near the kitchen counter holding a platter of sliced tomatoes. He looked thinner, his posture slightly more humbled, wearing a plain gray t-shirt with no corporate slogans whatsoever.
When he saw me walk in, he froze, his fingers twitching against the edge of the ceramic plate.
I didn't glare. I didn't gloat. I simply offered a neutral, polite nod.
"Hey, Jewel," Trevor muttered, his eyes dropping to the floor.
"Trevor," I replied evenly.
Mom bustled out of the kitchen wearing a floral apron, looking healthier and more rested than she had in years. She rushed over, hugging Rosie and Finn tightly before pulling me into a warm embrace.
"Dinner is almost ready," she announced brightly. "Dad is carving the roast on the back patio."
During dinner, the conversation was surprisingly normal. There were no grand speeches, no brass auctioneer bells, no announcements of luxury water-park vacations funded by phantom business accounts.
Instead, Finn chattered excitedly about his summer science camp project, Rosie showed off a sketchbook full of architectural drawings she had made of our new house, and Dad talked about a birdhouse he was building for the backyard oak tree.
Toward the end of the meal, Trevor cleared his throat, setting his fork down with a metallic clink against his plate.
The entire table went quiet.
Trevor looked around the room, his gaze lingering on Mom and Dad before finally settling on me.
"I just... I want to say something," Trevor began, his voice strained and tight. "I know I messed up. Big time. Not just with the Christmas gifts, and not just with... everything else." He swallowed hard. "I spent a long time blaming everyone else for my financial failures. And... I realize now how much I took advantage of you, Jewel. And of Mom and Dad."
I stared at him, genuinely stunned. An apology from Trevor was rarer than a unicorn sighting in the circus ring.
"I'm working the warehouse job," he continued, looking directly at me. "I'm paying Dad back every month. And... I’m sorry."
The silence in the dining room stretched for a moment, heavy and fragile.
I looked at my brother—really looked at him—and felt the last lingering knot of resentment in my chest finally dissolve into clean air.
May you like
"Accepted, Trevor," I said quietly. "Keep doing the work."
He nodded, a faint, exhausted look of relief washing over his features.
