“It’s a house, Elaine,” I corrected her, picking up a microfiber cloth and casually polishing a wine glass. “And yes. I closed last week.”
There was a heavy, pregnant pause. I could practically hear the gears grinding in Elaine’s head. She was a woman obsessed with status; she was currently running the mental calculus of the property taxes in this zip code, the down payment required, the sheer, staggering volume of wealth a twenty-nine-year-old single woman would need to secure such an estate.
“Well,” Elaine’s voice shifted. The fake relief vanished, replaced by an attempt to sound proud that failed miserably to hide the underlying envy. “Your father and I are just… we are just so surprised. We had no idea your little consulting business was doing so well. You never told us!”
“You never asked,” I pointed out mildly.
“Well, we are just thrilled for you. We really are,” Elaine lied. Then, she took a breath, and the true purpose of the call revealed itself. The hook was baited. “You know, Hannah… Madison and Greg are having a really, really hard time right now. Greg’s company restructured, and he lost his bonuses. The wedding put them in a bit of debt—you know how expensive these things are—and they are struggling to keep their townhouse.”
I remained completely silent, letting her squirm in the quiet.
“I was just thinking,” Elaine pressed on, her voice adopting a wheedling, conspiratorial tone. “Since you’re doing so wonderfully… maybe you could help your sister out? Just a temporary loan to pay off her credit cards. Family helps family, right? And clearly, you have more than enough to share.”
