My mother waited until twelve people were seated around my dining table before lifting her wineglass and smiling at me. “To Claire—the daughter I spent thirty-one years trying to turn into something useful.” My brother laughed first. My father looked down and smiled into his plate. They were sitting in a house I owned, eating food bought with money from the business they called my little hobby. I set down my fork and said, “Enjoy tonight, Mom. It’s the last dinner here that I’m paying for.”
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