Chapter 1 - The Anatomy of a Setup
The notification pinged on my phone at 4:22 PM, just two minutes after Bree from the Glass House had dropped the bomb about the $15,200 bill for Odessa’s fortieth birthday gala. It was from my mother, Corrine.
*“Everything is sorted, sweetie! Odessa’s friends are flying in from New York and LA. They are going to be so impressed with the venue. Don't worry about Talia’s little party; we’ll get some pizzas and a cake for the backyard. Family helps family, and you know your sister needs this after her stressful year.”*
I stared at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the keypad. For twenty years, that phrase—*family helps family*—had been the golden shackle of my existence. Whenever Corrine said it, it meant I was expected to open my wallet, swallow my disappointment, and play the role of the quiet, dependable provider who required no maintenance, no applause, and no boundaries.
I looked around my home office. My laptop was still glowing with the bank’s fraud department on hold. The frozen debit card sat on my desk, a small piece of plastic that represented a massive, tectonic shift in my family dynamic.
Talia walked into the room, holding her passport and a small nylon backpack. Her eyes were still red from crying earlier, but there was a quiet determination in her posture that reminded me so much of myself at her age—except she was learning this lesson at sixteen instead of thirty-nine.
“Mom, the taxi is downstairs,” she said softly.
“Good. Let’s go, kiddo.”
We didn’t tell anyone we were leaving. Not Corrine, who was likely currently sipping a mimosa at a country club discussing linen colors for Odessa’s gala. Not Odessa, who probably assumed the universe existed solely to serve as a backdrop for her mid-life crisis. And definitely not my brother, Marcus, who would inevitably call me selfish for not funding his latest crypto-scheme while I was at it.
As the cab pulled away from our Chicago apartment building, my phone started buzzing continuously. First, a text from Corrine: *“Where are you? Bree says your card was declined at the caterer! Fix this immediately, Odessa’s guests arrive tomorrow!”* Then a call from Odessa herself, her voice screeching through voicemail like a buzzsaw: *“Are you seriously trying to ruin my birthday out of jealousy? Pick up the phone, Clara!”*
May you like
I turned my phone on silent, dropped it to the bottom of my bag, and leaned my head against the cool glass of the taxi window. As we merged onto the highway toward O'Hare, the skyline of Chicago glittered in the autumn dusk. For the first time in my adult life, the city lights didn't look like a mountain of unpayable debts and obligations. They looked like something I was finally leaving behind.
***
