next year Claire won’t find another way to ruin our celebration.”
Seventy guests chuckled politely.
I stood near the dessert table, receipts in hand.
Something inside me finally snapped.
This year, Mother arranged an even more extravagant Christmas Eve gathering at the prestigious Grand Sterling Hotel.
She named it the Winter Light Charity Gala, supposedly benefiting homeless families.
“Forty thousand dollars should cover everything,” she told me in October.
“That’s a lot of money, Mom.”
“Don’t be selfish. Grant has important business associates attending.”
When I suggested the family contribute,
