Chapter 2: The Plan
The next morning, I woke before sunrise.
For the first time, I slept in the master bedroom of the house I had spent years dreaming about.
The room was still empty except for a mattress on the floor.
No headboard.
No nightstand.
No curtains.
Just a white sheet, the sound of waves, and a rectangle of pink sunlight creeping across the ceiling.
I made coffee in a saucepan because my coffee maker hadn't arrived yet.
Then I sat on the kitchen floor.
My phone was beside me.
Forty-three notifications.
I opened Facebook.
Marissa had posted again.
This time, she had uploaded a photo of a suitcase.
*Beach week starts Friday! Can't wait to have all my favorite people together.*
Someone commented:
Your sister better apologize.
Marissa replied:
I'm trying to give her time to calm down.
I actually laughed.
Then I stopped laughing.
Because I realized something.
She hadn't misunderstood me.
She had simply decided my answer didn't matter.
I called Claire.
“Morning,” she said.
“Can I ask you something?””
“Of course.””
“I want to know everything I need to do to make sure no one enters the property without my permission.””
Her voice became professional.
“You're the owner. You control access.””
“Even if someone claims they're family?””
“Absolutely.””
“Good.””
She gave me the number for a locksmith and recommended a security company.
By ten, a locksmith had replaced every exterior lock.
By noon, a security technician was installing cameras facing the driveway, front porch, side gate, and garage.
The technician held up his phone.
“You'll get alerts whenever someone approaches.””
“Perfect.””
“And there's a doorbell camera.””
“Good.””
He hesitated.
“Expecting trouble?””
I looked at the empty driveway.
“I'm expecting twenty-two guests who were never invited.””
He raised his eyebrows.
“Ah.””
That afternoon, I drove into town.
I bought a small folding table, a printer, bottled water, and a stack of envelopes.
Then I stopped at a local hotel.
The woman at the front desk looked up.
“Can I help you?””
“I need twenty-two rooms.””
She blinked.
“Twenty-two?””
“Yes.””
“For how long?””
“Two weeks.””
She started typing.
I waited.
Then she gave me the price.
It was a lot.
More than I had planned to spend that month.
But it was worth every dollar.
I paid the deposit.
Then I asked for something else.
“Can you make sure every room has the guests' names on the reservation?””
“Certainly.””
I handed her the list.
Marissa.
Greg.
Greg's parents.
His brothers.
Their spouses.
Their cousins.
The teenagers.
The children.
Twenty-two names.
The woman looked at me.
“Is this for a wedding?””
“No.””
“A family reunion?””
“Something like that.””
She smiled.
“Sounds complicated.””
“You have no idea.””
That evening, I went back to the house and started cooking.
Not for twenty-two people.
For one.
I made salmon.
Roasted potatoes.
A salad.
Then I carried my plate onto the deck.
The sun was setting again.
The ocean was turning dark blue.
I ate slowly.
It felt strangely luxurious.
Not because the meal was expensive.
Because nobody was asking me for anything.
Nobody was criticizing the food.
Nobody was telling me where I should sleep.
Nobody was calling me selfish.
My phone buzzed.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then again.
Finally, I looked.
*Marissa: Did you buy enough groceries?*
I didn't answer.
Another message.
*Marissa: The kids need breakfast stuff.*
Another.
*Marissa: And don't forget snacks.*
I put the phone face down.
Five minutes later, she called.
I let it ring.
It stopped.
Then started again.
I answered.
“What?””
“What is wrong with you?””
“I'm eating dinner.””
“You're ignoring me.””
“Yes.””
“I'm trying to make arrangements.””
“You already made arrangements.””
“For us.””
“Without asking me.””
“Because I knew you'd say no.””
I leaned back in the chair.
“At least you're honest.””
“Don't be sarcastic.””
“I'm not.””
“Listen. Greg's parents are bringing food allergies, so you'll need to make separate meals.””
I stared at my salmon.
“I'm not cooking for twenty-two people.””
“You're the host.””
“I never agreed to host.””
“You're making this incredibly difficult.””
“No, Marissa. I'm making it impossible.””
She sucked in a breath.
“You wouldn't dare.””
“Wouldn't dare what?””
“Lock us out.””
I said nothing.
Her voice became quieter.
“You wouldn't do that to family.””
I looked at the security camera mounted above the garage.
“No,” I said.
“I wouldn't.””
She exhaled.
“I knew you'd come around.””
“I said I wouldn't do it to family.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means you'll understand when you get here.””
She was silent.
Then she laughed.
“You're bluffing.””
“Good night, Marissa.””
I ended the call.
At 7:03 the next morning, I received a message from Greg.
*Greg: Marissa says you're being weird. Are you seriously refusing to let us stay?*
I replied.
*Me: Yes.*
Three dots appeared.
*Greg: We're already planning around the house.*
I typed:
*Me: Then you should probably make another plan.*
He called immediately.
I answered.
“Why are you doing this?””
“Because it's my house.””
“Marissa said you invited everyone.””
“She lied.””
“You're calling my wife a liar?””
“No. I'm saying she told everyone something I never said.””
Greg was quiet.
Then:
“You know how much this trip means to my parents?””
“I hope they enjoy their vacation.””
“They'll be furious.””
“I can't control that.””
“You're really willing to blow up the family over this?””
I looked out at the water.
“Greg, you don't get to invite twenty-two people into someone else's home and then call that person responsible for the consequences.””
He hung up.
I didn't hear from either of them for the rest of the day.
Instead, I spent Saturday furnishing the house.
A dining table for six.
A sofa.
Two armchairs.
A bookshelf.
A bed for the guest room.
Everything I had deliberately waited to buy until after closing.
It was my house.
I wanted every piece inside it to feel chosen.
On Sunday afternoon, I received an unexpected email.
It was from the hotel.
*Your group reservation has been updated.*
I opened it.
Someone had attempted to cancel all twenty-two rooms.
But the cancellation had been denied because the deposit was nonrefundable.
The person who made the request?
Marissa.
I called the hotel.
“Did she cancel the rooms?””
“She tried.””
“Thank you for keeping the reservation.””
“We have your authorization on file.””
I hung up.
Then my phone rang.
Marissa.
I answered.
“You canceled the hotel?””
“No.””
“They said you refused the cancellation.””
“Correct.””
“Because you're trying to make me look stupid!””
“You don't need my help with that.””
Silence.
Then:
“You think you're so clever.””
“No.””
“You think you can humiliate me.””
“No.””
“Then why are you doing this?””
I looked around my living room.
Because I had finally learned something.
My entire life, Marissa had been allowed to create emergencies and then hand them to me.
This time, I wasn't taking hers.
“I'm simply letting you experience the consequences of your own decisions.””
She went quiet.
Then she said something that made my stomach tighten.
“You have no idea what I already told everyone.””
“What did you tell them?””
“That this house is going to be ours for two weeks.””
“It's not.””
“You'll see.””
The call ended.
I stood still.
Then my doorbell rang.
I checked the camera.
Nobody was outside.
The alert had been triggered by movement near the driveway.
I opened the app.
A car had stopped at the edge of the property.
A man stepped out.
He walked toward the house.
I recognized him.
Greg's father.
He looked directly into the camera.
Then he lifted his phone and called someone.
My phone rang.
Greg's father.
I answered.
“Hello?””
His voice was cold.
“Your sister said we were welcome here.””
“She was wrong.””
“We drove four hours to inspect the property.””
“Then you should have called first.””
“We're family.””
“That doesn't give you access to my home.””
He stared at the camera.
“You'll regret treating people this way.””
I looked at his car.
Then at the ocean.
“I don't think I will.””
He hung up.
The next morning, I received one final message from Marissa.
*Friday. 10 a.m. Twenty-two people. We're coming whether you like it or not.*
I read it twice.
Then I opened the security app.
At the bottom of the screen was a setting I'd forgotten about.
*Remote gate control.*
May you like
I smiled.
Friday suddenly couldn't come soon enough.
