The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of Frank clearing his throat once more. Vanessa stopped tapping her nails. She stared at me, her eyes narrowed.
It was exactly half past four when Vanessa stood up from her chair. Her face was flushed, the pale skin around her nose turning a mottled red.
“You are incredibly selfish,” Vanessa shouted, her voice echoing off the plaster walls of the dining room. “You have all this space, and you just watch us struggle.”
“Vanessa,” Daniel said, but he did not stand up to stop her.
“No, Daniel,” she said, turning her sharp glare onto him. “Your mother has three empty bedrooms and a bank account full of your father’s life insurance. And she sits here like a queen while my parents are about to be put out on the street.”
“This is my home,” I repeated, my voice remaining quiet and even. “I will not be yelled at in my own dining room.”
“You do not care about anyone but yourself,” Vanessa said.
She reached down and grabbed her wine glass, which was still half full of cheap pinot noir. Her hand moved in a single, violent arc.
The heavy crystal glass struck my forehead with a dull thud. It shattered into dozens of tiny, glittering pieces that rained down onto the serving platters and the hardwood floor.
A sharp, stinging heat bloomed just above my eyebrow.
“Oh, my goodness,” Linda whispered, her hands flying to her silver earrings.
Daniel sat frozen, his fork still hovering inches from his mouth.
I did not scream. I reached down and picked up my white linen napkin, folding it once before pressing it firmly against my forehead.
Within seconds, the white fabric began to bloom with a dark, spreading stain.
“Vanessa, what did you do?” Daniel asked, finally standing up from his chair.
“She provoked me,” Vanessa said, though she had taken a step back toward the hallway, her fingers twitching against her side. “She is sitting there acting like she is better than us.”
“It was an accident,” Frank said, his gravelly voice sounding hollow. “She was just gesturing. The glass slipped.”
“It did not slip,” I said through the napkin. The blood was warm, running down the side of my nose and dripping onto my collar.
