My grandfather said, “Explain why strangers are living in the house I gave you.”
I had no idea. “Why is a complete stranger living in that lakeside house I gave to Natalie?”
The voice of my grandfather, Felix, was never loud. But that deep, steady tone sliced through the sparkling background of Christmas carols and instantly froze the air in the spacious dining room.
A dry clink echoed as a silver fork struck a plate. It had slipped from the hand of my father, Grant. I tightened my grip on my glass and quietly looked over my family.
The color had completely drained from my father’s face, and cold sweat glistened on his forehead. My mother, Maya, seated beside him, stared at my grandfather with a pale, rigid expression. And then there was my sister, Jordan.
Maybe she didn’t understand the situation. Or maybe she believed it had nothing to do with her. All she did was frown irritably and stop the hand that had been fiddling with her smartphone.
“Dad, what do you mean by that?”
My father’s voice cracked. “This must be some kind of mistake, right? A… mistake.”
My grandfather slowly set down his wineglass and pierced my father with a sharp gaze.
Those eyes were no longer the gentle ones I had adored since childhood. “Last week,” he said calmly, “the moment I returned to this country, I headed straight for the lakeside. I wanted to see that nostalgic house again.
But what I found there was not Natalie. It was a strange family having a barbecue, as if the place belonged to them. They told me this: ‘We’re renting it from Grant, the landlord.’”
I heard my mother gasp softly.
Why was something like this happening? My own reality is nothing more than days spent working from morning until night just to pay the rent on my shabby apartment. Meanwhile, my parents and my sister live quite differently.
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