At Christmas Dinner, They Mocked My ‘Tiny St…

37

“Still renting that pathetic studio?” my cousin laughed. Everyone joined in. I just smiled and pulled out my phone.

“Actually, I own this entire building… and the one you all live in.”

The room went silent as I showed them the property records. The Bennett family Christmas dinner was always a performance of wealth and status. This year, they had chosen my cousin Victoria’s modest penthouse.

All 6,000 square feet of Italian marble and Central Park views. “Alexandra, darling.”

Aunt Patricia air-kissed my cheek, Cartier bangles jingling. “Still in that charming little studio apartment?”

I adjusted my carefully chosen outfit.

Simple sweater, worn jeans, scuffed boots. Let them think I couldn’t afford better. “Yes, Aunt Patricia.

Still there.”

“How persistent of you.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Victoria, dear. Look who’s finally arrived.”

Victoria glided over in Chanel, perfect highlights catching the light from her crystal chandeliers.

“Cousin. We were just discussing real estate investments, but…” She patted my arm condescendingly. “You’re still renting, aren’t you?”

I thought about my real apartment, the entire top floor of my building with its private elevator and rooftop garden.

But instead, I just smiled. “Yes, still in the studio. At least it’s in Murray Hill.”

My other cousin Marcus chimed in, swirling his aged scotch.

“What’s the rent in that neighborhood now? Two thousand a month?”

“Twenty-two hundred,” I replied, letting them assume it was a stretch for me. In reality, the monthly rental income from my building’s other units was well into six figures.

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