Important usually meant expensive.
When I walked in, the table was set perfectly.
The good china.
The crystal glasses.
Roast chicken.
Potatoes.
It looked like a celebration.
Dad was sitting at the end of the table.
He looked down at his plate.
He did not say hello.
That should have been my first warning.
Elina was there drinking red wine.
She looked great.
Her hair was done.
Her nails were perfect.
She looked like she had not worked a day in her life.
Which was true.
Mom was bustling around, too cheerful.
“Sit, sit. Eat.”
We ate in awkward silence.
I could hear the clock ticking on the wall.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Finally, Mom put down her fork.
She wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“Isabella,” she said.
Her voice was steady.
Businesslike.
“We have an opportunity. A huge opportunity for Elina.”
I put my fork down.
“What kind of opportunity?”
“A business,” Elina piped up. “A boutique. My own fashion line. I have a vision, Isabella. It’s going to be huge.”
“That sounds nice,” I said cautiously. “Do you have a business plan?”
Elina scoffed.
“Details. Mom handles the details.”
Mom leaned forward, her eyes locked onto mine.
“She needs startup capital. Real capital to get the prime location and the inventory.”
“How much?” I asked.
I was expecting maybe five thousand.
Maybe ten.
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” Mom said.
The number hung in the air.
“Two hundred thousand?”
I laughed.
It was a nervous, shocked laugh.
“Mom, I don’t have two hundred thousand dollars. I’m an accountant, not a millionaire.”
“You have excellent credit,” Mom said. “We checked. You can take out a business loan or a line of credit. You can co-sign with us, but put it in your name because your credit score is perfect.”
We checked.
The words echoed in my head.
They had checked my credit without asking me.
“No,” I said.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“No,” I said again.
My voice was stronger this time.
“I can’t do that. That’s a mortgage. That’s a life debt. If the business fails, and Elina has never run a business, I’m on the hook. I’ll be ruined.”
“It won’t fail,” Elina shouted. “You never believe in me.”
“It’s not about believing in you,” I said. “It’s about math. It’s too risky. I won’t do it.”
Mom stood up.
Her face went red.
“Isabella, this is your sister. This is her dream. You are going to ruin her dream because you are scared of a little risk. You are selfish.”
There was that word again.
Selfish.
“I’m not doing it, Mom. I’m done. I’m done paying for everything. I’m done being the bank.”
“Give me your credit card,” Mom demanded. “We need to put a deposit down tonight to hold the location. Give it to me.”
“No.”
That was when it happened.
The slap.
It was fast.
Hard.
The sound was like a gunshot in the room.
My head snapped to the side.
The room went silent.
I touched my cheek.
It was hot.
I looked at Dad.
He was staring at his peas.
He did not move.
He did not speak.
I looked at Elina.
She was smirking.
She looked triumphant, as if seeing me hurt was better than getting the money.
And Mom.
Mom looked angry.
Not sorry.
Angry that I had defied her.
“You ungrateful girl,” she hissed.
Something broke in me.
But it was not a breakdown.
It was a breakout.
I stood up slowly.
I picked up my purse.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
My voice was very quiet.
“If you walk out that door,” Mom yelled, “don’t you come back. You are turning your back on this family.”
“No, Mom,” I said. “You turned your back on me a long time ago.”
I walked out.
I got in my car.
I drove.
I did not go home.
I drove to a cheap motel off the highway.
I did not want them to come to my apartment.
I needed to hide.
I sat on the lumpy bed in that motel room and stared at the wall.
My face throbbed.
I felt hollow.
I felt like an astronaut who had been cut loose from the ship, floating into dark space.
But I also felt light.
I did not have to solve their problem.
I did not have to find two hundred thousand dollars.
I did not have to listen to the guilt.