Chapter 1
My mother swept sixteen birthday invitations off the kitchen table and screamed that my father's family was not welcome in our house.
The invitations scattered across the marble floor.
One slid beneath the refrigerator.
Another landed beside my birthday cake.
And the one with my grandmother's name fell directly into a puddle of spilled orange juice.
I stared at them.
Then I looked at Mom.
"Why would you do that?"
Claire Bennett stood in front of me, breathing hard.
Her emerald-green blouse was perfectly pressed.
Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders.
She looked beautiful.
But her eyes were filled with anger.
"I told you already, Maya. His family is not coming into my house!"
My throat tightened.
"They're my family too!"
She pointed toward the invitations.
"Not today."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
It was my sixteenth birthday.
The kitchen was decorated with colorful balloons.
A huge chocolate cake sat beside a pile of wrapped presents.
A silver banner above the windows read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAYA!
Everything looked perfect.
Except nothing felt perfect.
For weeks, I'd been planning this party.
I invited my school friends.
My cousins.
My grandparents.
And the relatives I hadn't seen properly in years.
I wanted one afternoon when everybody who loved me could stand in the same room.
Apparently, that was too much to ask.
Mom folded her arms.
"I made myself clear."
I fought back tears.
"Grandma Evelyn already bought me a present."
"She can mail it."
"Uncle Raymond is driving three hours!"
"Then he can turn around."
I stared at her.
"Why do you hate them so much?"
Her face changed.
For one second, she looked hurt.
Then the anger returned.
"Watch your mouth."
I swallowed.
"I'm just asking."
"And I'm telling you that those people are not welcome here."
Those people.
She was talking about my father's mother.
His brother.
My cousins.
People who had held me as a baby.
People whose photographs still sat inside the family album beneath my bed.
I wiped my eyes.
"Grandma calls me every Sunday."
Mom laughed bitterly.
"Of course she does."
"She remembers everything about me."
"How wonderful."
My chest tightened.
"She remembers my science competition. She remembers my favorite books. She even remembers what kind of cake I like."
Mom slammed her hand against the counter.
"Enough!"
I stepped backward.
The sudden noise made my heart jump.
Then she pointed toward the front door.
"If you want those people so badly, perhaps you should celebrate somewhere else."
I stared at her.
"You're kicking me out of my own birthday party?"
"Don't be dramatic."
I began crying.
"Then stop treating me like I did something wrong!"
That was when Dad walked into the kitchen.
My father, Marcus Bennett, was forty-eight years old.
Tall.
Athletic.
Short hair.
A neatly trimmed beard.
He wore a navy shirt and dark trousers.
He had been outside arranging extra chairs for the guests.
When he saw my face, he stopped.
"Maya?"
I tried wiping my tears.
But I couldn't stop crying.
Dad looked toward the invitations scattered across the floor.
Then at Mom.
"What happened?"
Claire answered before I could speak.
"Your daughter decided to ignore me."
Dad frowned.
"About what?"
"She invited your relatives after I specifically told her not to."
His expression changed.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he looked at me.
"Sweetheart?"
I swallowed.
"Dad, I only wanted everyone here for my birthday."
My voice broke.
"I thought maybe today we could all be together."
Dad stepped beside me.
He placed a protective hand on my shoulder.
I leaned against him.
Then he looked at Mom.
"You did this because Maya invited my family?"
Claire crossed her arms.
"I told her they weren't welcome."
Dad's jaw tightened.
"You humiliated our daughter because you're jealous of her relationship with her own relatives?"
Mom's eyes widened.
"Don't you dare."
He gestured toward the floor.
"Look at what you've done."
She looked away.
Dad continued.
"Those invitations were hers."
Claire laughed.
"And this house is mine."
The kitchen went silent.
I stared at her.
Dad's expression turned cold.
"What?"
Claire pointed toward the doorway.
"This is MY house, Marcus. I decide who enters it."
I felt something inside me sink.
I'd heard Mom say that before.
During arguments.
When Dad wanted to invite Grandma for Thanksgiving.
When Uncle Raymond offered to help repair the porch.
When my cousin Jasmine asked to visit during summer vacation.
Every time, Mom reminded everyone that the house belonged to her.
But I'd never heard her use those words against me.
Not until today.
Dad took a slow breath.
"Today is about Maya."
Mom rolled her eyes.
"Of course you're taking her side."
"She's our daughter."
"And I'm your wife!"
Dad stepped closer.
"Those things are not in competition."
Claire stared at him.
He continued.
"You will not treat her family like trash."
For the first time, Mom looked frightened.
Not much.
Just enough for me to notice.
Her eyes flickered toward the kitchen drawer.
Then toward Dad.
"Marcus," she said quietly, "don't start something you can't finish."
Dad studied her.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
She didn't answer.
I grabbed his arm.
"Dad, please."
He turned toward me.
I was shaking.
Not because I thought he would hurt anyone.
Because I knew how these arguments usually ended.
Mom would cry.
Dad would apologize for upsetting her.
Grandma's visit would be canceled.
And I'd pretend I didn't care.
But this time, I couldn't pretend.
I looked toward the invitations.
The one addressed to Grandma Evelyn was still wet.
I bent down and picked it up.
Dad immediately knelt beside me.
He gathered the others.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked at the handwriting on Grandma's envelope.
His expression softened.
"She already confirmed she's coming?"
I nodded.
"She said she'd be here at three."
Dad glanced at the clock.
It was almost two.
He looked toward the front door.
Then back at Mom.
"Good."
Claire stiffened.
"What do you mean, good?"
Dad stood.
"I mean my family is welcome."
Mom's face went pale.
"You cannot invite them into my house."
Dad stared at her.
Then said something I'd never heard him say before.
"Claire, we need to discuss who this house actually belongs to."
My stomach tightened.
Mom froze.
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the birthday music playing softly from the living room.
Then my mother whispered, "You promised you would never bring that up."
Dad didn't answer.
He looked at me.
Then at the old family photograph hanging near the kitchen entrance.
In it, I was a baby.
Dad was smiling.
Grandma Evelyn stood beside him.
And Mom looked as though she wanted to be anywhere else.
I felt the air change.
Something was wrong.
May you like
Something much bigger than a birthday argument.
And as I stood there clutching my ruined invitations, I realized my parents had been hiding a secret about our family for years.
