I arranged for a photographer because I wanted to remember this day. I had the house deep cleaned and decorated with elegant fall arrangements. The dining room in my estate could seat 24 people comfortably, and I had rented additional tables for the overflow into the adjacent sitting room. Nobody in my immediate family knew where I lived.
I’d kept that information private deliberately. All my mail went to a PO box, and I’d been careful about social media. My profiles were locked down tight with privacy settings that would make a cyber security expert proud. The morning before Thanksgiving, I was overseeing the delivery of rental chairs when my phone buzzed with a message from Madison.
Madison, hope you have a nice, quiet Thanksgiving alone. Maybe you’ll finally understand that actions have consequences. I almost laughed. The projection was stunning. I’d spent my entire childhood and young adult life trying to figure out what I’d done to deserve their treatment. I was quieter than Madison, more bookish. I like different things.
I chosen a different college, a different career path, a different life. And for that, I was consistently treated as lesser than me. I’m sure I’ll have a memorable Thanksgiving. You too, Madison. We always do. Some of us know how to maintain family bonds. I didn’t respond. There was no point. Thanksgiving morning arrived cold and clear.
I woke early and did a final walkthrough of the house. The caterers would arrive at 8. My guests would start showing up around 11:00. Dinner was scheduled for 2:00 in the afternoon. I was in the kitchen going over the menu with the catering manager when my security system chimed. Someone was at the front gate. I pulled up the camera feed on my tablet and felt my stomach drop.
My father’s car was idling at the entrance with my mother in the passenger seat, Madison in the back, and Tyler driving behind them in his own vehicle. They’d found me somehow. They’d found me. I watched as my father pressed the intercom button. Rebecca, we know you’re in there. Open this gate right now. My hands shook slightly as I pressed the talk button.
How did you get this address? That doesn’t matter. Open the gate. We need to talk to you. We don’t have anything to discuss. I’m busy today. You’re busy? My father’s voice tripped with sarcasm. Doing what? sitting in your little apartment feeling sorry for yourself. I’m not opening the gate. Please leave. Like hell, I will. You’ve poisoned our entire extended family against us.
Diane called your mother yesterday and uninvited her to their Christmas party. Frank told me I was a disgrace. Do you know what you’ve done? I invited family to Thanksgiving. That’s what I did. You invited them despite us. My mother’s voice came through now, shrill and angry. You’re trying to turn everyone against their own family. You excluded them first.
I just offered them an alternative. Open this goddamn gate, Rebecca. My father was shouting now. No. Leave or I’m calling the police. Tyler’s voice joined in. Just open it, Becca. Stop being dramatic. This is my property and you’re not welcome here. Leave. I disconnected the intercom and stood there breathing hard.The catering manager looked at me with concern. “Should I call the police?” she asked. “Not yet. They’ll leave.” But they didn’t leave. For 20 minutes, they sat at my gate, taking turns pressing the intercom button. I ignored them, focusing on the preparations, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Then my security system sent me an alert.
Motion detected at the east perimeter. I pulled up the cameras and watched in disbelief as my father climbed over the stone wall that bordered my property. The wall was 6 ft high and he struggled but he made it over. Madison followed, more nimble, landing in the flower beds on the other side. Tyler came last. Call the police now. I told the catering manager.
Tell them there are intruders on my property. I watched on the cameras as they made their way toward the house. My father’s face was red with rage. Madison looked around with obvious shock, taking in the manicured grounds, the size of the house, the luxury of everything. They reached the front door and began pounding on it. Open up, Rebecca.
Stop being ridiculous. I stayed in the kitchen, my phone in my hand. The 911 dispatcher confirmed that officers were on their way, but my property was in an unincorporated area, and the response time would be 15 to 20 minutes. I also called my property management company’s emergency line and told them what was happening. The pounding continued.
Then I heard glass shatter. They’d broken the window next to the front door. “Ma’am, you need to hide,” the catering manager said urgently. “My staff and I can handle this.” “No, everyone stays in the kitchen. Lock the door behind me.” I walked toward the front of the house, my heart hammering.
Through the security cameras mounted in every room, I could see my father reaching through the broken window, trying to unlock the door from the inside. He managed it. The door swung open and they burst inside. I met them in the foyer, keeping my distance. The security cameras would capture everything with crystal clarity, both video and audio.
I’d had a state-of-the-art system installed, and I’d never been more grateful for it. Every angle was covered. How dare you ignore us? my father said, advancing on me. His face was purple with anger. You ungrateful, selfish. Get out of my house. I’ve called the police. They’re on their way. Your house? Madison laughed, but it sounded slightly hysterical.
This is your house? How? I work. I succeed at what I do. Now get out. You’re showing off. My mother’s voice was shrill. You’re trying to make us look bad. Everything isn’t about you. I bought this house because I wanted it. I invited people to Thanksgiving because you excluded them. Your actions led to this.
