Chapter 3 - The Drive to Elmwood Drive
The drive down Elmwood Drive was quiet, save for the hum of the car engine and the soft rustle of Christmas wrapping paper still littering the back seat from our uncelebrated morning. The snow had frozen into hard, icy drifts along the curbs, glittering under a brilliant, indifferent winter sun.
As we pulled into my parents’ driveway, the scale of yesterday’s gathering was still evident. Cars were parked haphazardly along the grass—Vanessa’s silver SUV, my uncle’s pickup truck, and several vehicles belonging to extended relatives who had apparently decided to turn Christmas Eve into a three-day holiday lodging event.
I cut the ignition. Sophie turned to me, her fingers nervously twisting the zipper of her winter jacket. “Mom, are you sure about this? Grandma is going to be furious that we’re here. You know how she gets when her house is messy after a party.”
“Let her be furious, sweetheart,” I said, unlatching my seatbelt. “You stay right here in the car with your father for a minute. I want to handle the delivery myself.”
I stepped out into the crisp air, clutching the heavy manila envelope like a shield. My boots crunched loudly on the frozen gravel as I walked up the shoveled stone pathway toward the grand double front doors of the house where I had taken my first steps.
Through the sheer curtains of the front window, I could see movement inside. Vanessa was standing by the kitchen pass-through, holding a mimosa flute, while my mother barked orders at one of my aunts about clearing away the remaining pastry platters from breakfast. They looked relaxed, fat, and happy—completely insulated in their little world of mutual validation and elitist family politics.
I reached the front door, lifted the heavy brass knocker, and let it drop twice. Thud. Thud.
A moment later, the locks clicked, and the door swung open. It was Vanessa. She was wearing an expensive silk bathrobe, her hair freshly blown out, looking like she had slept ten hours while my daughter had shivered in an empty house.
Vanessa’s smile faltered the instant she saw it was me, replaced instantly by that familiar, condescending curl of the lip she had perfected since high school.
“Oh. It’s you,” Vanessa said, leaning against the doorframe and taking a sip of her mimosa. “We were wondering when you’d show up. Mother was just saying how ungrateful it was of you to disappear right after your shift instead of helping clean up the chafing dishes.”
I didn't blink. I didn't raise my voice. I simply stared at her with a look so devoid of warmth that Vanessa actually stopped mid-sip.
“Where’s Mother?” I asked, my voice cutting through the warm air spilling out from the hallway.
“She’s in the kitchen,” Vanessa snapped, annoyed by my tone. “Look, Elena, if you’re here to throw a fit because Sophie had to go home early last night, save it. The house was packed. You should have checked the headcount before sending her over unannounced. Honestly, bringing an extra teenager into a full house with twenty-eight guests was completely inconsiderate of you.”
I stepped forward, invading Vanessa’s personal space so sharply she was forced to take a step back inside the foyer.
“Inconsiderate,” I repeated softly. “Is that what you call telling a sixteen-year-old girl who drove through a snowstorm that there’s no room for her at her own grandparents' table?”
“Oh, please, don’t start with the melodrama,” Vanessa scoffed, rolling her eyes. “She got home safe, didn’t she? She had a roof over her head. Mother offered her crackers or toast, or whatever was in the pantry. Kids these days are just entirely too entitled. You coddle that girl too much.”
I reached out, grabbed Vanessa by the silk lapel of her bathrobe, and jerked her forward with a sudden, violent force that made her gasp in shock.
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“Listen to me very carefully, Vanessa,” I whispered, my face inches from hers, my eyes blazing with ice. “Your little reign of cruelty in this house is officially over.”
Before she could scream or call for our mother, I dropped the thick manila envelope onto the mahogany entryway table right behind her, turned on my heel, and marched back down the steps toward my car.
