My dad, a retail manager at a big-box electronics store, had a knack for indulging her every whim. My mom, a bank employee who orbited Julia like a devoted satellite, made sure our golden child got whatever she wanted. New clothes for fashion shows she wasn’t invited to, professional photography equipment, even a studio-grade ring light for the videos she filmed in her bedroom. They would clap and cheer as she practiced her spiels, their eyes sparkling as if she were already a world-famous celebrity.