Here’s a rewritten version that keeps the same meaning: “You’re nothing like your sister,” my mom remarked at dinner. I pushed my chair away from the table and replied, “Then she can start covering your rent.” My dad went pale. “Rent? What rent?”

“You’re not half the woman your sister is,” my mom said at dinner. I pushed my chair back and said, “Then she can start paying your rent.” Dad turned pale. “Rent? What rent?”

My father leaned back, exhaling a dramatic, stage-managed sigh. His eyes skipped over me, landing on Vivian with swelling pride.

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