Old Jaden would have laughed awkwardly, looked down at his plate, and let the table move on. Old Jaden had mastered the art of disappearing while still sitting in plain sight. But that night, I smiled like she had handed me something useful.
“Yeah,” I said. “Still doing that.”
Paige tilted her head. “Must be nice working in pajamas. I’d go crazy if I didn’t have auditions, events, actual people depending on me.”
My cousin Lily coughed into her napkin, trying not to laugh. Aunt Cheryl smiled because Aunt Cheryl smiled whenever cruelty came wrapped as a joke. My father reached for his steak like the conversation had nothing to do with him.
Grandma’s hand tightened around her fork.
I noticed.
That tiny movement stayed with me long after dinner ended. Grandma had heard it. She had always heard more than she said.
I flew back to New York the next morning. The city met me with gray skies and wet sidewalks, steam rising from the grates like the streets were breathing. My driver dropped me at my building, and the doorman nodded.
“Welcome home, Mr. Carter.”
Home.
I rode the elevator up in silence. When the doors opened into my apartment, the lights warmed automatically. My shoes clicked across marble floors. The skyline stood behind the glass, huge and glittering, like proof I wasn’t the boy at the end of the table anymore.
Still, I felt twelve.
That was the thing nobody tells you about building a life your family can’t ignore. Sometimes, when they finally look, you realize you’re still waiting for people who never learned how to see you.
I tried to bury it in work. Calls, meetings, product strategy, investor updates. I flew to Austin, then Chicago, then back to New York in one week. My assistant, Nora, left oat milk lattes on my desk and told me I looked like a ghost with a calendar.
Then my father texted.
“Hey Jaden. Paige’s 25th birthday is coming up. We’re doing a surprise weekend in Miami. Flights and hotel already booked. Need you to chip in for the group gift.”
No “How are you?”
No “Are you free?”
No “We’d love to see you.”
Just an invoice disguised as family.
I stared at the message while standing in my kitchen, barefoot, the refrigerator humming softly beside me. The group gift, I learned after asking, was a new MacBook Pro, a ring light setup, and “some starter equipment” because Paige wanted to launch a beauty channel.
I almost laughed.
When I turned twenty-five, I bought myself a secondhand office chair with a broken lever and ate dollar-slice pizza alone on a fire escape.
I texted back, “I won’t be able to make it. I hope she has fun. I’ll pass on the gift. Already handled something separately.”
That last part was a lie.
Not a cruel one. Just a shield. I knew if I said no directly, they’d turn it into a courtroom.
Within twenty minutes, the family group chat lit up.
Aunt Cheryl: “Jaden, Paige was really hoping you’d be there.”
Mom: “We already booked the suite, honey. Please don’t make this difficult.”
Paige: “It’s not about money. It’s about showing up for family. But whatever. Not surprised.”
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I poured coffee I didn’t want and opened an old shared Dropbox account my mother used when we were teenagers. I don’t know why. Maybe I needed evidence. Maybe I needed to prove to myself I hadn’t invented the imbalance.
Folders loaded slowly.
“Family Vacations.”
“Paige Dance.”
“Paige College.”
“Jaden School Stuff.”
My folder had one document: “Scholarship Essays Draft.”
Paige’s had tuition invoices, private coaching receipts, housing deposits, headshot packages, travel confirmations, and a scanned acceptance letter my parents had framed like a holy document.
One invoice alone was more than my entire first year in New York.
I sat there as the screen glowed against my face. The apartment was quiet except for the soft tick of the clock over the stove. My hands weren’t shaking. That surprised me. I wasn’t furious.
I was clear.
The Miami photos started appearing days later. Paige on a rooftop in a white dress. Paige on a boat with sunglasses bigger than her future. Paige holding a champagne flute angled perfectly toward the sunset, captioned: “Surrounded by the people who matter most.”
I closed the app.
A week later, Grandma called.
Her voice was soft. Careful.
“Your father told me you sent Paige something beautiful for her birthday.”
I frowned. “I didn’t send anything.”
Silence stretched across the line.
Then Grandma exhaled slowly. “She told everyone the bracelet was from you.”
My apartment suddenly felt colder.
“What bracelet?”
“A Cartier one,” Grandma said. “She made quite a speech about how even you came through for her.”
I looked out at the skyline, all that glass and steel staring back at me, and felt the old version of myself finally step away from the table.
Paige hadn’t just taken my place in the family.
Now she was using my name to decorate hers.
### Part 3
I didn’t call Paige.
That would have been too easy for her.
