Chapter 10 - The Knock on the Door
On Wednesday evening, the snow began to fall again, dusting the quiet suburban streets in a fresh, pristine layer of white.
Anna and I were sitting in the living room, eating popcorn and watching a documentary about dolphins, when a sharp, aggressive pounding echoed from the front porch.
It wasn't a normal knock. It was the frantic, hammering rhythm of someone on the verge of a complete psychological collapse.
I paused the television. Anna looked up, her small brow furrowing. "Who is that?"
"I don't know, bug," I said softly, standing up from the sofa. "Stay here."
I walked through the hallway, approached the front door, and looked through the peephole.
Standing on the porch beneath the amber glow of the porch light was Rachel. Her hair was messy, her designer winter coat was half-unzipped, and her face was flushed red from the freezing wind and sheer, unadulterated fury. Behind her in the driveway, my mother’s silver sedan was idling, its headlights cutting jagged beams through the falling snow.
I unlocked the deadbolt, pulled the door open about six inches, and rested my hand against the frame, blocking her path.
Rachel’s eyes widened, blazing with a manic, desperate rage.
"Eleanor!" she hissed, stepping forward as if she meant to shove her way past me into the house. "Are you insane? Have you completely lost your mind?"
"Keep your voice down, Rachel," I said, my tone flat, cold, and entirely devoid of emotion. "The neighbors are sleeping."
"My agency is ruined!" Rachel shrieked, her voice cracking as tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. "I had two major clients drop me today! My phone hasn't stopped ringing with trolls and reporters asking if I ‘vote children out of the family’! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"
"I didn't do anything, Rachel," I replied smoothly. "I didn't write the article. I didn't pitch the story to the Herald. Sarah Lin interviewed us at a public film festival where Anna’s work was screened. Everything printed in that article is the literal, unvarnished truth. If you didn't want people to know you’re a cruel, shallow hypocrite, maybe you shouldn't have been one on camera."
"You ruined my life!" she sobbed, grabbing the edge of the door frame with her manicured fingers. "You and your bratty kid! All of this because of a stupid fifteen-minute family video! You could have just let it go! You could have told the reporter it was a misunderstanding!"
"A misunderstanding?" I laughed, a short, humorless sound that made her flinch. "You stood in front of four dozen people on Christmas Eve, looked a seven-year-old child in the eye, and told her she didn't fit your aesthetic and wasn't family. And now that the world agrees with you—that you aren't fit to be part of our family—you’re crying because your social standing is taking a hit?"
"Eleanor, please!"
From the driveway, the passenger door of my mother’s sedan swung open. My mother hurried up the icy walkway, her face twisted in a mask of desperate, pleading panic. She rushed past Rachel, stopping inches from the threshold, her hands clasped together in a pathetic supplication.
"Eleanor, please," my mother pleaded, her voice trembling. "Please, darling. Have some mercy. You know how fragile your father’s heart is. And my insurance... the pharmacy called me today saying my coverage lapsed because the automatic draft didn't go through. We’re family, Eleanor. Family doesn't do this to each other."
I looked down at the woman who had stood in Rachel’s living room two weeks ago and told me to "stop being dramatic" while my daughter wept on the carpet.
"Family?" I asked quietly. "Funny. That word sounds very different coming from you now that the checks have stopped clearing."
My mother choked back a sob. "We’ll fix the video! Rachel will re-edit it! We’ll put Anna at the very beginning, with a special title card! We’ll invite her to everything! Just... please make the internet stop talking about us. Please call that reporter and tell her it was a joke."
I shook my head slowly.
"It’s too late for that, Mom," I said. "The video is already out there. And Anna doesn't need your re-edited scraps anymore. She has a movie of her own."
May you like
I reached out, closed the heavy front door firmly in their faces, and threw the deadbolt home with a loud, satisfying click.
Outside, through the frosted glass, I heard my mother let out a ragged, disbelieving gasp, followed by Rachel cursing into the cold night air. A moment later, doors slammed, tires spun on the icy asphalt, and the red taillights of their sedan faded down the suburban street, disappearing into the dark.
