Chapter 4 - My Father’s ProposalMy father had always entered rooms as though someone had invited him to lead them.
Not funeral flowers.
Bright pink peonies.
Her favorite.
She knocked at 8:30 on a Sunday morning and then used the spare key my mother had given her years earlier without asking me.
I heard the lock turn from upstairs.
“Emily?”
I froze.
I had spent the night sitting on Maya’s bedroom floor, sorting absolutely nothing.
That had become my routine.
I opened drawers.
Touched clothes.
Read school papers.
Then put everything back exactly where it had been.
Downstairs, Olivia called again.
“I brought coffee.”
I walked to the staircase.
She stood in my foyer wearing cream leggings, expensive sneakers, and a camel-colored coat.
Her blonde hair was perfect.
The flowers looked absurd in her arms.
“What are you doing here?”
She looked startled.
“Visiting you.”
“You let yourself in.”
“You weren’t answering.”
“So you broke in?”
“Emily, I have a key.”
“Had.”
She rolled her eyes.
That tiny movement nearly made me lose control.
“I came to apologize.”
“For missing my family’s funeral?”
She flinched.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
I walked down the stairs, held out my hand, and waited.
She frowned.
“What?”
“The key.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Emily.”
“Give me my key.”
She placed the flowers on a side table too hard.
“Mom said you were acting like this.”
“Like what?”
“Hostile.”
I stared at her.
Eleven days earlier, I had watched three coffins go underground.
My sister was offended by my tone.
“Give me the key.”
She pulled it from her purse and slapped it into my palm.
“There.”
“Thank you.”
“Can we please talk like adults now?”
“Go ahead.”
Her shoulders dropped dramatically.
“I know you’re angry.”
“Correct.”
“And I understand why.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then tell me.”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I waited.
Finally she said, “Because we weren’t there.”
“Why weren’t you there?”
“It was complicated.”
“No. It was Saturday.”
“Emily, stop.”
“No, explain the complication.”
Her eyes filled.
It happened instantly.
Olivia could cry faster than anyone I knew.
“Do you think I enjoyed my birthday after what happened?”
“You posted thirty-four photographs.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You posted a video of Dad doing tequila shots.”
Her face hardened.
“Mom made me keep the party.”
“Did she force you into the silver dress?”
“That’s cruel.”
“Did she physically prevent you from getting into a car?”
“Everyone was already there.”
“So?”
“So what was I supposed to do? Cancel everything?”
“Yes.”
The answer came so quickly she blinked.
“Yes, Olivia. Your brother-in-law and niece and nephew died. You cancel the cake.”
She began crying.
Real or performative, I no longer cared.
“You always make everything about some loyalty test.”
I almost admired the sentence.
“Three funerals were not a loyalty test.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I genuinely don’t.”
“You’ve always resented me.”
There it was.
The family mythology.
Emily hates Olivia.
It had explained everything since childhood.
When I was fourteen and complained Olivia took my clothes without asking, I was jealous.
When I was twenty-two and our parents paid Olivia’s university debt after refusing to help with mine, I was jealous.
When my mother changed the date of my bridal shower because Olivia wanted to attend a music festival, I was jealous.
Nothing was ever about behavior.
Everything was about my alleged resentment.
“I don’t resent you,” I said.
“Yes, you do.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because my children were buried and you went dancing.”
Her face twisted.
“Stop saying it like that.”
“How should I say it?”
“You’re making me sound horrible.”
I felt something almost peaceful.
“That’s because you don’t like hearing what you did without excuses attached.”
She stared at me.
Then her eyes moved past my shoulder.
Toward the mail stacked on my kitchen counter.
One envelope bore the Whitaker Infrastructure logo.
Her expression changed.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
She walked toward it.
I stepped between her and the counter.
“What?”
“Why do you have something from Whitaker?”
“Julian worked there.”
“I know.”
“So?”
She crossed her arms.
“Dad heard something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“That the company might be getting bought.”
I said nothing.
Olivia watched me carefully.
“And Julian had shares.”
I hated how quickly grief could coexist with suspicion.
“How does Dad know that?”
“He knows people.”
“Which people?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
She sighed.
“One of his golf friends has a cousin who works in finance.”
Of course.
My father collected rumors the way other men collected watches.
“Is it true?”
“That isn’t your business.”
Her eyes widened.
“So it is.”
I turned away.
“Leave.”
“Emily.”
“Now.”
“Wait. I’m not asking because I want anything.”
“Then stop asking.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“No, you’re curious.”
“That’s unfair.”
I laughed quietly.
“You missed my children’s funeral but showed up eleven days later when Dad heard a financial rumor.”
“That is not why I came.”
“Then prove it.”
“How?”
“Tell me what Maya’s favorite song was.”
Olivia stared at me.
“What?”
“You were her aunt for seven years. What song did she play constantly?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did Leo call pancakes?”
Her lips parted.
“I—”
“What was Julian allergic to?”
“That has nothing to do with—”
“Leave.”
She grabbed her purse.
“You know what? Fine.”
She marched toward the door, then turned.
“Mom and Dad are terrified you’re going to shut everyone out.”
“They should be.”
“Family doesn’t disappear because you’re angry.”
I walked to the door and opened it.
“No.”
She waited.
I looked straight at her.
“Sometimes family disappears because you finally stop chasing it.”
Her face went pale.
Then she left.
That afternoon, I changed every lock in the house.
Three days later, my father showed up.
He didn’t bring flowers.
May you like
He brought a folder.
And inside it was a document asking me to sign away control of something he had no idea I owned.
