Her face glowed with pride.

“To Rachel,” she said, “and her incredible success.”

We all raised our glasses.

I noticed my parents did not toast to both their daughters.

Just Rachel.

Just the success story.

The comfortable one did not merit celebration.

“You know what you should do, Maya?” Rachel said after we drank.

I looked at her.

“You should sell your little shop,” she said. “Take whatever money you can get for it. Probably not much, but maybe someone would buy the domain name and customer list. Then you should get a real job.”

She said it like she had been generous enough to solve my entire life.

“I might be able to help you,” she added. “Once we’re public, we’ll be expanding our marketing department. I could probably get you an entry-level position. It wouldn’t pay much, maybe sixty thousand to start, but it would be a real career. Real benefits. Real growth potential.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” my mother said immediately. “Maya, you should seriously consider it. Working for Rachel’s company would be such an opportunity.”

“An entry-level marketing position,” I repeated carefully.

“Everyone has to start somewhere,” Rachel said.

She folded her hands in front of her, suddenly sounding almost managerial.

“I know you’re probably used to being your own boss, making your own hours, all that freelancer flexibility. But that’s not how real companies work. You’d need to be in the office nine to six minimum. You’d need to report to a manager. You’d need to actually perform and meet metrics. It would be an adjustment, but it might be good for you. Teach you some discipline.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I said.

“Think about it seriously,” my father urged. “Rachel’s giving you a chance here. A chance to be part of something big. Don’t let pride get in the way of a good opportunity.”

“Pride has nothing to do with it, Dad.”

“Doesn’t it?” Rachel leaned back in her chair, studying me with that same contemptuous expression. “I think you’re embarrassed, Maya. I think you’re embarrassed that your little online shop isn’t impressive, so you’re clinging to it because admitting failure would hurt your ego. But here’s the thing. It’s not failure to recognize your limitations. It’s maturity. You tried the entrepreneur thing, and it’s fine for what it is. But it’s not a real business. Just admit that and move on.”

“Rachel,” my mother said, “that’s a bit harsh.”

But again, her tone suggested she did not really disagree.

“I’m being honest,” Rachel said. “Someone needs to be.”

She finished her wine and reached for the bottle again.

“Maya’s been playing businesswoman for how long now?” she asked. “Five years?”

“Six,” I said.

“And what does she have to show for it?” Rachel asked the table. “A website? Some inventory? Maybe a couple thousand customers? That’s not a business. That’s a hobby that makes a little money. Meanwhile, I’ve built a company with three hundred employees, forty million in revenue, and investment from some of the most prestigious VC firms in the country. See the difference?”

“I see it,” I said quietly.

“Do you? Because I’m not sure you do. I’m not sure you understand what real success looks like.”

She was slurring slightly now, the wine catching up with her, but her aim remained clear.

“You know what the difference is between you and me?” she asked. “Ambition. Vision. I saw an opportunity in the market and I seized it. I built something from nothing. I worked incredibly hard while you were selling handmade plant hangers or whatever you sell.”

“Rachel,” my father said mildly. “Language.”

“Sorry, Dad,” she said. “But I’m frustrated. Maya could have been something. She’s smart enough. She went to Berkeley. She got a good degree in business economics. But then she just gave up. Started this little online boutique thing and called it entrepreneurship. And now she’s thirty-four with nothing to show for it.”

“I have something to show for it,” I said.

“What? The website?” Rachel laughed. “Congratulations. I have a platform that processes two billion dollars in transactions annually. I have technology that’s patent protected. I have a cap table that includes Sequoia, Andreessen Horowitz, and Peter Thiel. What do you have?”

I could have answered.

I could have ended it right there.

But I was curious now.

I wanted to see how far she would go.

“I have a business I’m proud of,” I said.

Rachel laughed again, and this time the sound was ugly.

“Proud? Great. You’re proud. But pride doesn’t pay bills, Maya. Pride doesn’t build wealth. Pride doesn’t create a legacy. You want to know what creates a legacy? What I’m doing. Taking a company public. Creating shareholder value. Building something that will outlast me. That’s a legacy. Your online shop? That’s a footnote.”

My mother reached over and patted my hand.

It was somehow worse than if she had said nothing.

“We just want you to have security, sweetheart,” she said. “Financial security. Rachel’s going to have that after the IPO. She’ll never have to worry about money again. We worry about you. What happens if your shop fails? What happens when you’re fifty and still selling crafts online?”

“I’ll be fine, Mom.”

“Will you, though?” my father asked. “You’re not getting any younger, Maya. You don’t have a husband. You don’t have children. You don’t have a retirement plan that we’re aware of. At some point, you need to think about the future. About stability.”

“I think about the future all the time.”

“Then think about Rachel’s offer,” he pressed. “A real job with a real company. Benefits. A 401(k). Stock options once the company goes public. That’s stability. That’s a future.”

Rachel was nodding, and her expression had shifted from contempt to something that might have looked like genuine concern if I did not know her better.

“I’m serious about the offer,” she said. “I can make it happen. You’d have to start at the bottom. I can’t just give you a senior position. That wouldn’t be fair to people who’ve worked their way up. But you could grow with the company. In five years, you might be a marketing manager. In ten years, who knows? Director of something. That’s a real career path.”

“Versus selling pottery online,” my mother added, “which has no career path at all.”

I finished my salmon and set down my fork.

“Can I ask you something, Rachel?”

“Sure.”

“The IPO,” I said. “You said it’s next month?”

“Four weeks from today.”

“And Goldman Sachs is the lead underwriter?”

“Yes.”

She looked suspicious suddenly.

“How do you know about lead underwriters?”

“I know some things about business,” I said mildly.

“And Morgan Stanley is involved too?”

“Co-manager, along with JPMorgan,” Rachel said. “It’s a big syndicate. We wanted major banks backing this.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Why are you asking?”

“Just curious. And you said your valuation is around eight hundred million?”

“Target is eight hundred. Could go higher depending on demand. Maya, what’s this about?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just interested in your success.”

I smiled.

“It sounds very impressive.”

“It is impressive,” my father said firmly. “Rachel’s accomplished something extraordinary. We’re very proud.”

“You should be,” I said.

The rest of dinner passed in similar fashion.

Rachel talked more about her company, the technology, the market opportunity, the competitive advantages. My parents asked questions and hung on every answer. My mother brought out dessert. My father opened another bottle of wine. I ate my overcooked salmon and undercooked vegetables and said very little.