The next hour passed in uncomfortable pleasantries. Vivien’s sister Constance was there with her husband, Dale, along with Trevor’s older brother Marcus and his wife, Heather. Everyone moved through the house like actors in a play, saying the right things, laughing at the right moments, maintaining the illusion of a perfect family Christmas.

I helped set the table under Vivien’s critical supervision. She corrected the placement of every fork, every napkin, finding fault with everything I touched. Trevor stood nearby, saying nothing in my defense. He never did.

When dinner was finally ready, Vivien directed everyone to their seats. The dining room table could seat fourteen, decorated with crystal and china that probably cost more than my car. Khloe and Brandon sat between Trevor and me, across from Marcus and Heather.

“Brandon, why don’t you help your grandmother by bringing the water pitcher to the table?” Vivien said sweetly.

Too sweetly.

“I’ll get it,” I offered quickly.