Chapter 2 - The Grand EntranceThe screen door of the lake cabin creaked open before our shoes even touched the wooden planks of the porch. My mother stepped out, wiping her hands on a floral apron that looked entirely too wholesome for the atmosphere it governed.
“There’s my birthday boy!” Susan trilled, sweeping down the steps with her arms outstretched like a televangelist greeting a stadium of tier-one donors. She scooped Jacob up into a hug that smelled heavily of lavender fabric softener and expensive face cream. “Oh, look at you! You’re getting so tall, aren't you? Almost too big for your own shoes, aren't you, sweetie?”
Jacob offered a polite, stiff little smile over her shoulder. “Hi, Grandma.”
“And Sarah,” my mother added, her eyes flicking toward me with a practiced, fleeting warmth that vanished the moment she registered my damp hair and faded denim jacket. “You made it through the weather. Good. Go on inside, your father is at the grill, and Uncle Mark is watching the game. Oh—and put your things on the side table. Leave the floor clear.”
“Where’s Jessica?” I asked, stepping past her into the familiar, pine-paneled living room.
Susan’s face tightened into an instant, defensive squint. “She had a major brand consultation call that ran long, Sarah. You know how demanding her work is. It’s not like punching a clock at an office. She builds an aesthetic. She’ll be here any minute, so let’s just wait on singing or opening anything until she arrives. We want her in the family photos.”
Of course. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. The entire universe had to pause its orbit because my thirty-three-year-old sister was busy talking into her phone about organic matcha powder or silk pillowcases.
Inside, the cabin smelled of charcoal, melted cheddar, and the faint, unmistakable aroma of Uncle Mark’s cheap scotch. Mark was sprawled across the oversized leather recliner, his eyes glued to a baseball game on the sixty-inch television my father had bought him for Christmas three years ago—an extravagance my parents had never once offered to help with when Jacob needed specialized reading tutoring in first grade.
“Hey, birthday slugger!” Mark grunted without taking his eyes off the screen. “Put your loot on the table. Don’t clutter up the walkway.”
Jacob obediently tiptoed over to the long oak dining table. Already sitting there was a neat collection of packages: a watercolor set I had scraped together from a local craft store, a thick space book filled with glossy photographs of nebulae and black holes, a small brass telescope I bought off a clearance rack online, and a chunky wooden geometric puzzle my father had whittled out of scrap cedar during his woodworking phase last winter.
Jacob gently placed his brown Target bag right at the edge, treating it with the same reverence a museum curator might afford a recovered Renaissance painting.
At that exact moment, the gravel driveway outside erupted in a gravel-crunching shriek of high-performance tires. A car door slammed with theatrical resonance.
“She’s here!” my mother whispered, her face instantly lighting up with the frantic, manic energy of a stage manager whose lead actress had finally stumbled onto the set.
The front door swung open wide.
Jessica strode into the cabin like she was walking the runway at Milan Fashion Week. She was wearing an emerald-green silk slip dress that clung to her frame like a second skin, paired with strappy gold metallic sandals and oversized designer sunglasses pushed up into her highlighted, cascading waves. In her right hand, she held a sleek smartphone mounted on a mini stabilizer gimble, the front-facing camera glowing with a ring light reflection in her pupils.
“Hey, my loves! We are live!” Jessica announced to the empty room, her voice pitching up into that glossy, high-frequency influencer cadence that made my teeth itch. “I am literally so, so late, traffic on the interstate was an absolute nightmare, but I had to make it for my favorite little nephew’s seventh solar return. Say hi to the chat, Jacob!”
She thrust the glowing screen directly into Jacob’s face.
Jacob blinked, startled by the sudden blinding ring light and the wall of scrolling scrolling comments flying past on the screen. He shrank back, instinctively clutching the edge of the dining table.
“Hi,” Jacob mumbled, staring down at his sneakers.
“Oh, shy! Cute,” Jessica cooed into her phone, turning slightly so the camera captured her “good side” against the rustic pine backdrop. “Okay, guys, I’m gonna hop off live for a sec to give some family love. Smash that heart button and I’ll be back for cake time!”
She tapped her screen, pocketed the phone, and tossed her designer handbag onto the clean sofa, right where Uncle Mark’s feet were resting. Mark didn't flinch; he just chuckled good-naturedly.
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Jessica scanned the room, her eyes sweeping over my mother, Uncle Mark, and finally landing on the dining table. Her gaze lingered on the neat stack of birthday presents.
Then, her lips curved into a sharp, predatory smile.
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