Page 14 of Minha Dona

The house sat behind high walls in a leafy street in a neighbourhood where old São Paulo money like her parents lived alongside newer fortunes in a state of uneasy coexistence. Helena’s grandparents had bought the house in the sixties, a sprawling colonial-style property with more rooms than any family needed and a garden that her mother tended as if it were her fourth child. It was the house Helena and her sisters had grown up in, the house where every milestone had been marked and every argument had been fought, and every Sunday lunch, without exception, had been served at one o’clock.

As Helena and her sisters had grown older, the tradition had crystallised as monthly… once a month they would all be there, without fail, and it worked, an opportunity for the family to come together and, for a few hours, rediscover the dynamic that they’d built over the years. As traditions went Helena approved.

Helena parked in the driveway behind Mariana’s car, the white Audi convertible that their father had bought for her twenty-first birthday and that Mariana drove as if she’d never have to worry about the cost of repair. Although in fairness, that was probably a reasonable assumption on her part… tasks like that often fell to their father.

The car, the apartment… each daughter, on turning twenty-one, had been gifted both, their parents thinking being that they would lay the foundations for each daughter but then they would have to earn their own money after that. That didn’t mean working in the family investment fund, now run by their uncle after their father retired, but it did mean earning for themselves despite the fact that Helena suspected her parents could afford to fund all three daughters’ lifestyles indefinitely if they’d wanted to.

Helena was under no illusions that she was anything other than incredibly fortunate, but she was also glad that her parents had done it that way. We’ll set you up, but then it’s over to you. It taught them self-responsibility while allowing them to choose the career they wanted, consulting in Helena’s case.

Their youngest sister, Beatriz, wasn’t there yet, which was normal. Beatriz ran on her own schedule and always had, and the whole world had to just deal with it. She’d arrive when she arrived and they’d still be happy to see her.

The smell of her mother’s cooking hit Helena the moment she walked through the front door. Feijoada today, she thought, from the rich, deep aroma of it, her father’s favourite, and therefore a fixture of the monthly Sunday lunch even though it was a dish that took most of the morning to prepare and left the kitchen looking like a war zone.

“Helena!” Her mother appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and pulled Helena into a tight hug. The household was her domain, and woe betide anyone who didn’t know that. They had domestic staff but on a Sunday they were all given the day off and, Helena suspected, her mother wouldn’t have let anyone else try to make the Sunday lunch even if they were on duty.

She leaned back to look at Helena. “You look thin. Are you eating?”

“I eat plenty, Mãe.”

“You work too much. Come, your father’s on the terrace.”

Helena followed her through the house, the familiar route past the living room with its heavy furniture and family photographs covering every surface, through the dining room where the long table was already set for five, and out through the glass doors to the terrace.

Her father was in his usual chair, a glass of red wine in his hand and the Sunday paper open on his lap, though he appeared to have given up reading it in favour of watching the garden birds. He was the counterpoint to her mother’s energy, tall, measured, the sort of man whose words carried weight when he spoke. He’d run the family’s investment firm for three decades before retiring, but his life seemed fuller now than ever: philanthropic work, seemingly endless rounds of golf, and advisory roles with a handful of companies grateful for his expertise.

“Pai.” Helena kissed his cheek and sat in the chair next to him.

“Helena.” He smiled warmly. “How’s work?”

“Good. I’m presenting to Pactuali’s board on Thursday.”

“I know their CFO from a while back. Smart woman. Risk-averse, quite old school.”

“I know. We’re leading with a conservative scenario.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good instinct.”

That was high praise indeed coming from him, and it meant a lot to Helena. Even at twenty-five she valued her father’s professional opinion above almost anyone else’s.

“Would you like me to speak to her?” He had a twinkle in his eye as he said it.

“Absolutely not,” Helena grinned.

Her father grinned back. He’d tried to help once earlier in her career and Helena had been mortified when she found out. Now, they had a mutual agreement that he’d always offer and she’d always say no… a dance they did where both of them knew all the moves.

Mariana appeared from inside, barefoot, hair still wet from the shower she’d presumably just taken, wearing a sundress that didn’t look cheap. She was twenty-three, the middle sister, and her role could best be described as the family hurricane…blowing through every situation with energy and noise, not to mention a complete inability to be anywhere quietly.

“You’re here!” Mariana threw herself at Helena as if they hadn’t seen each other for months rather than a few days. “I need to talk to you later. Important.”

“About?”

“Later.” Mariana grabbed Helena’s wine glass, took a sip, and handed it back. “It’s about this evening.”

“What about this evening? I was planning to go home after lunch.”

“Change of plan. You’re coming out with me and some people. It’ll be fun.” She looked at Helena with an expression that said this is not remotely optional. “Please? I need my big sister’s support.”

“Support for what?”