Page 5 of Robbin’ the Rich

We settled into our usual spots automatically, conversation flowing easily while Mom talked about a charity gala she’d gotten roped into helping organize, and Dad complained about a client who tried classifying a boat as a “business necessity.”

“It technically hosts meetings,” Dad argued.

“Fishing with your dentist is not a board retreat,” I said.

“It could be.”

Mom rolled her eyes and reached for her wine.

“Oh,” she said casually, “that reminds me. Ascension Fellowship booked the hotel ballroom for their winter fundraiser.”

Every muscle in my body locked.

The shift must’ve shown on my face, because both my parents looked at me. “What are you doing with Ascension Fellowship?" I demanded.

My mom cocked her head and looked at me as if she were a bit confused. “Well, ever since I retired, I’ve been looking for something to do, so your father and I started attending a few services.”

“You know there is a new family that took it over years ago. It’s not run by Reverend Young anymore.” My father said, as if that was enough to change my mind about that terrible place.

“No,” I said flatly.

Mom blinked. “No what?”

“No to Ascension Fellowship.”

Dad frowned slightly. “Robin⁠—”

“That church is awful.”

Mom looked surprised at my reaction. How was she surprised?

“Honey, it’s changed a lot over the years.”

I laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Did it though?”

“People can grow,” my father said in a serious voice.

“Cool. Did they un-traumatize all the queer kids they helped terrorize too?”

The table went quiet. I hated that my voice sounded so angry already. I hadn’t even meant to react that hard. But hearing the name shoved me right back into being eighteen years old and watching Lila cry on the back steps of Lantern House because her parents loved their church more than their daughter.

Mom’s expression softened immediately. “Robin…”

“No, seriously. They preached that garbage for years and suddenly they add a coffee bar and a laser light show, and everyone acts like they’re healed.”

Dad set his wine down carefully. “The Pastor Dan changed a lot after they took over from Pastor Young.”

“Pastor Dan,” I laughed once, sharp and humorless. “The branding changed.”

I leaned back in my chair, frustration prickling hot beneath my skin now. “They turned the church into a concert venue. Skinny jeans, fog machines, worship albums, Instagram clips about grace.” I pointed my fork vaguely through the air. “It’s the same garbage underneath, just with better marketing.”

Mom sighed softly. “They’re more welcoming now.”

“Welcoming if you’re willing to fit in a little box and donate money.”

Neither of them answered that.

I swallowed hard before continuing, quieter this time. “Lila’s parents went there every Sunday. They volunteered there. They listened to Pastor Young preach about family values and sin and all that bullshit for years.” My chest tightened slightly. “And then they threw their daughter out like she was disposable.”