“Oh, come on.”

“How did you say it?”

Rachel looked toward the kitchen again.

“I made a stupid comment. That’s all.”

I asked her what the comment had been.

She refused twice before finally answering.

“I told them if they wanted to kick the ball around, they should aim over there.”

She pointed toward the television.

Nick stared at her.

“You pointed my kids at our TV?”

“They’re my kids.”

“You know what I mean.”

Rachel pressed her lips together.

Then the explanation started.

We had insurance.

We could replace it.

The boys probably hadn’t meant to hit it that hard.

She had been joking.

She hadn’t thought the screen would actually break.

Each explanation contradicted the one before it.

Finally I asked the question she had been avoiding.

“Why?”

Rachel looked at me.

“Why what?”

“Why did you want something in my house broken?”

She gave me a short laugh.

“You really want to do this?”

“Yes.”

Nick leaned against the doorframe, watching his sister.

Rachel lowered her voice.

“Because I’m tired of coming here and seeing this.”

She gestured past me toward the kitchen.

“Seeing what?”

“All of it, Candace.”

She pointed toward the new cabinets, then the living room.

“The house. The furniture. That ridiculous television. Every time I come over, there’s something else. New floors. New car. New dining room. New whatever.”

“We saved for those things.”

“I know.”

But she said it in a way that made clear she didn’t care.

“Do you know what it’s like listening to Mom tell everybody how well Nick is doing? Or hearing her talk about how beautiful your house is? You walk into every family thing and everything is just…handled.”

I looked at her.

“So you told your children to destroy something?”

She shook her head.

“I said it was stupid.”

“No. You said you’d buy them toys.”

That stopped her.

Sam was crying quietly now.

Rachel glanced down at him, and I could see the moment she finally noticed what she’d done beyond the television.

She had made her sons part of it.

I picked up the soccer ball from beside the mudroom cabinet and handed it to Sam.

“You two go find Grandma, okay?”

Rachel started to object, but Nick shook his head.

The boys left.

Once they were gone, I looked at Rachel.

“You owe us for the TV.”

She scoffed.

“Two thousand dollars?”

“Whatever insurance doesn’t cover.”

“I don’t have that kind of money sitting around.”

“Then you can make payments.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

She looked at Nick.

For years, that had worked. Whenever Rachel and I disagreed, she would turn to her brother as if he were the appeals court.

This time Nick didn’t hesitate.

“She’s right.”

Rachel grabbed her purse from the bench.

“Unbelievable.”

Nick stepped aside so she could leave.

She stopped in front of me.

“I said I was sorry.”

I shook my head.

“No, you didn’t.”

She stared at me for another second, then went to collect her sons.

I didn’t chase her.

I didn’t argue.

Instead, I went upstairs, opened my laptop, and pulled up an email I’d received four days earlier.

It was the confirmation for Rachel’s fortieth birthday catering.

The party was three weeks away.

The address on the reservation was mine.

And the person who had paid the deposit was me.

The Party She Thought Was Still Hers

Rachel had asked to use our house for her fortieth birthday before the renovations were even finished.

She wanted around thirty people, catered food, decorations, and drinks on the back patio. Her apartment wasn’t large enough, and renting a private event space would have cost more than she wanted to spend.

I’d said yes.

I had also offered to coordinate the catering because a local company we’d used before gave me a discount. Rachel was supposed to reimburse me after the party.

The deposit was refundable until ten days before the event.

I read that sentence twice.

Then I clicked the cancellation link.

Nick came into our bedroom while I was filling out the form.

“What are you doing?”

I turned the laptop toward him.

He read the screen.

Then he pulled out the desk chair and sat down.

“You’re canceling the catering?”

“Yes.”

He rubbed both hands over his face.

I waited for him to tell me not to.

Instead he asked, “What about the party?”

“She’s not having it here.”

Nick looked at me for several seconds.

“Okay.”

That was all.

I submitted the cancellation.

The confirmation appeared less than a minute later.

Deposit refund: processing.

Then I went downstairs and found the plastic storage bin Rachel had left in our guest room. It contained gold paper decorations, candles, place cards, two framed photographs she wanted displayed, and a folder with her guest list.

I put everything inside.

Nick helped me carry it to the front hall.

The next morning, I sent the box to Rachel with a short note.

Her party would need a new location.

The catering reservation had been canceled.

Nothing else.

Forty minutes after the delivery notification appeared on my phone, Rachel called.

I let it ring twice before answering.

“Candace, tell me you didn’t actually cancel everything.”

“I canceled the catering, yes.”

“Call them back.”

“No.”

“Candace, there are thirty-four people coming.”

“Then you need to tell thirty-four people where your new party is.”

Her breathing changed.

“I’ve already sent invitations.”

“I know.”

“They have your address on them.”

“I know.”

“My birthday is in three weeks.”

“I know that too.”

There was silence on the line.

Then her voice softened.

“Please.”

That was new.

Rachel rarely said please to me.

“I can’t find another place this late. The restaurants I checked months ago wanted ridiculous minimums. That’s why we agreed to do it at your house.”

“We agreed before you deliberately destroyed something in that house.”