My father smiles faintly, unaware. “Girls?—”
“I’m just curious,” I say gently. “You both make it sound so simple.”
Bianca leans back. “It’s about knowing how to move in the world.”
Elena adds, “Reading people. Making connections.”
I smile. “So… spending money you didn’t earn and convincing men with money you’re special?”
The air tightens.
Bianca’s laugh comes out, “That’s unfair.”
“Is it?” I ask. Still calm. Still pleasant. “Because from where I’m sitting, the skill set seems to be spending Dad’s money and calling it independence.”
He frowns. “Sofie?—”
“I don’t mean it unkindly,” I say quickly, turning to him. “They’re very good at what they do, they should take it as a compliment.”
Elena bristles. “We’ve built lives.”
“Of course,” I say. “In cities you don’t pay taxes in. With men whose last names open doors. Supported by allowances that arrive on schedule.”
Bianca’s eyes flash. “You think you’re better than us?”
I answer politely, but honestly. “I think I’ve made… different choices.”
Elena laughs haughtily, “By never leaving father’s side? He’s been your security blanket, your whole life.”
“And you’ve never left his wallet.”Take that bitch.
Silence.
My father looks between us, uneasy now. “All right,” he says softly. “Let’s not argue.”
I nod immediately. “Of course.”
“Daddy loves to take care of us.” Elena exhales dramatically. “We’re just trying to help.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And if I ever need advice on how to spend money without accountability, I’ll ask.”
Bianca pushes her chair back slightly. “Wow.”
I pick up my wine. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
Dad reaches for my hand, squeezing it like he’s afraid the moment might slip away. “You girls are all so… strong,” he says, hopeful.
They preen at that; I swallow back the bile. Because to him, strength for women is something soft, something pretty, something that doesn’t demand anything money can’t fix.Like their fucking noses in middle school.The same nose we got from him, the one they still to this day suggest I have fixed.
And I let it stay that way for him, for now.
We eat in near silence, and the coffee arrives.
Dad tilts his head, thoughtful. “And how is your mother these days?”
Their heads snap to face each other, a plan being formed between them, and they both sigh as they look at Dad.
“She’s… fine,” Elena says. “Still adjusting.”
