Several heads nodded in agreement. My uncle George cleared his throat. “They are right. Rents in this area are impossible. $2,500 to $3,000 a month for a decent apartment.”

“Exactly.” Matthew straightened up, expanding his chest. “That’s why I always say you have to work hard. No one gives you anything for free in this city.”

I felt a knot in my stomach tighten, twisting like wet rope. No one looked at me. No one noticed how my hands gripped the serving spoon harder than necessary, knuckles turning white. The conversation continued to revolve around money, the cost of living, and how hard it was to make ends meet—all spoken by people drinking their third bottle of $40 Zinfandel.