No Place in the Family Photo, I Reject This Home

The day I found the family portrait of the three of them, I was in the bathroom washing my sister's socks.

My wet palm slid across the photo. The date was fresh. Yesterday.

The girl in it had fair, pretty skin. Not a single mark of disfigurement.

After my sister was disfigured, our family had never taken another photo. By silent agreement she'd become the invisible one, the one you didn't show off.

Mom and Dad had tipped the scales of their love all onto my side. The nicer clothes, the expensive shoeswhatever I wanted, they never said no.

Under all those years of being ignored, my sister developed depression. Her wrists were covered in scars of different depths.

I saw it, and I chose to stay by her side and give her whatever she wanted.

The day she lost her competition, she climbed onto the roof, and I handed over the competition slot I'd spent three months preparing for.

The day she failed to win a graduate-school recommendation spot, she swallowed pills, and I gave her the recommendation spot I'd worked so hard to earn.

Six years. One surrender after another.

Until the voice came from the bedroom:

"Mom, faking depression works so well. This time I want Connie's study-abroad exchange spot!"

01.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Mom grabbed my hand, all tenderness.

"You silly girl, why are you washing your sister's socks?"

"You'll freeze your hands raw. It breaks my heart!"

My bitter smile froze on my face. Slowly I drew my hand back out of hers.

I looked down at the wad of pink socks in the basin, the bubbles bursting one by one.

I'd heard words like these thousands of times.

Hearing them now, all I felt was sick.

After my sister was accidentally scalded and disfigured, Mom and Dad pinned the whole family's hopes on me.

Growing up, my closet was full of new clothes, complete sets of study guides.

Every kind of prep class, private tutoring from top teachersall arranged for me.

Even the room with the best light in the house went to me. My sister had to squeeze into the cramped little back bedroom.

She could only wear the shoes I'd worn out, take the clothes I didn't want.

Mom and Dad gave me all their love, except in one thing. Photos.

Every year on my birthday I'd suggest the family take a photo to remember it by.

But Mom always shot it down, saying my sister's face was ruined.

More than once I told them not to be like that.

But Mom would only smile: "Your sister's stuck like this for life."

"You're different, sweetheart. Food, fun, whatever you want, I'll give it to you."

The day my sister first cut herself, her whole face was smeared with tears as she demanded of me:

"Why do you get to enter the competition? But the moment it's my turn, Mom won't spend a cent!"

"I hate you!"

My chest clenched, and to steady her I handed over the competition slot I'd worked so hard to get.

The day she swallowed pills the second time, she stared at me with hollow eyes and asked:

"You're better than me at everything. I'm the useless one."

I held her body as it went limp, aching, and gave up the recommendation spot I'd fought for over four years.

The day she went to the roof the third time, she stood at the edge in despair, like a puppet with no soul left in it.

"Connie, I can't hold on anymore. This family, I don't want it."

That day I got a call from my advisor. He told me I'd been given the one and only spot to study abroad on exchange for a year.

I stood on the roof with the phone, the hard wind stinging my eyes.

For years I hadn't slept a single good night, terrified that the moment I closed my eyes, my sister would jump off the top of the building.

To make her life a little better, I worked day and night, bought her name-brand clothes and name-brand shoes.

I even promised her:

"It's okay. Whatever Mom and Dad favored me with, your sister will make it up to you."

Then the hand cream was held out in front of me, and Mom frowned.

"Connie, don't wash her socks again. She's a grown woman."

"And don't forget to put on hand cream."

I pushed down the ache churning inside me and nodded.

Before I saw those family portraitshow hard you must have worked to fool me all these years.

I finished washing my hands and came out to find the family already gathered around the table, eating.

Seeing my eyes land straight on the spicy grilled fish on the table,

Mom rubbed her hands and explained:

"The chili peppers your aunt brought over were about to go bad if we didn't eat them. What a waste, on this one!"

As she said it, Mom pinched my sister hard.

My sister can't stand a meal without heat. But I'm allergic to chili peppers.

My sister clutched my hand tight.

"Connie, don't take it to heart. Mom loves you most. Next time"

Before she finished, I turned my head, slipped my hand free, and said quietly:

"No need. I've got plans with a friend."

My sister burst into tears in an instant.

"Connie, are you angry? I won't eat it, all right?"

"If you leave, Mom's going to blame me again!"

Mom turned and tied on her apron.

"Connie, don't be angry. I'll make you something new! It's just one fish!"

Even Dad planted himself in front of me.

"Connie, if you don't come to the table today, none of us are eating!"

In the middle of the argument came a sharp cracka cup shattering on the floor.

A stab of pain shot through my skin, and a huge blister rose up in an instant.

02.

"What happened?"

Mom came rushing out at the sound, and the second she saw the terrible blisters spread across my arm, the color drained from her face.

She grabbed Georgette's arm and pinched it, hard.

Georgette's tears dropped to the floor, one after another.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! I just wanted to pour Connie some tea to help her cool off!"

"It's bad enough you're useless, and now you can't even do a simple thing without being clumsy about it!"

Dad snapped too. "If anything happens to your sister, you'll be sorry."

I froze where I sat. In the past, when I heard my parents talk like this,

I would always say I was fine, tell them not to worry, that it was only a little scratch.

But this time I just sat on the couch and said nothing.

I let the wound bleed and ooze. None of it hurt as much as the ache inside.

She finished shouting at Georgette, then turned and clutched my arm, her whole face pinched with panic.

"Noel, go find the insurance card, quick! If my Connie is left with a scar, how am I supposed to live with that?"

The two of them darted around the house like headless flies.

Cabinets slammed shut and swung open, snapping and banging, grating on my nerves.

But the insurance card was right there, in the second drawer of their nightstand.

Every single time Georgette had needed it, they'd griped and grumbled but pulled it out at once.

The searing pain in my arm bored deeper into the bone in waves, and beads of sweat dropped to the floor one by one.

An insurance card sitting in a drawer, and they searched for it for a full hour.

The sun slid down inch by inch, until the sky darkened, until the blisters broke open, and still they hadn't found it.

I just watched them pretend to bustle around the house in circles, and the bitterness inside me churned and rolled over.

I smiled a little and said softly, "Mom, don't bother."

She stopped.

Her tears dropped to the floor, one after another.

"Connie, it's Mom's fault, Mom's useless. I couldn't find the insurance card, so I can't take you to the hospital."

"Wait, Mom will go find some burn ointment for you!"

Her voice shot up in an instant.

Dad frowned and grumbled that she was hopeless.

I didn't say a word. I took the crumpled, dented tube of ointment and spread a little over the wound.

Then a sharp sting shot through my skin, and my eyes snapped to the date on the box.

Two years past its expiration.

My eyelids suddenly felt heavy, and my nose stung.

Last year, when Georgette ran a fever of ninety-nine, they hadn't hesitated for a second.

They scooped her up and ran for the hospital, Dad so frantic he didn't even change out of his slippers.

Several doctors said there was no need for an IV, but Mom insisted at the top of her voice,

"This one gets sick every few days, might as well just do it now and be done with it!"

"Save us running back and forth all the time!"

The IV line ran cold, and Mom frowned and cupped it warm for her, scolding under her breath about what a handful she was.

The dense, prickling pain crawled over my skin, and I smiled.

My parents loved me only with their mouths.

They hated her, and gave her everything they had to give.

I went back to my room and locked the door behind me.

Leaning against the cold panel of the door, in that moment I finally set down the calm I'd been forcing.

My body slid slowly down.

Tears dropped, one after another.

Thinking of what they'd just done.

Thinking of that family portrait of the three of them they'd hidden away.

All these years, it really must have been exhausting for them, standing in front of me, performing a love that was never real.

03.

When I went back to the restaurant for my part-time job in the mascot costume, the burns on my body still hadn't fully healed.

The manager said there was a family in a private room throwing a birthday party for their kid and asked me to go warm up the room.

He gave my shoulder a light pat.

They've only got one daughter, and they spend big. Do a good job.

They'll definitely tip you!

Inside the heavy costume I nodded hard, holding the props I used for the clowning act.

The moment I pushed the door open, I froze where I stood.

It was Mom and Dad. And my sister.

The prosthetic scar was peeled off her face, tossed carelessly on the table.

This fake thing is miserable stuck to my face. Once the study-abroad exchange spot comes through, I won't have to keep acting.

Mom smiled and wiped the marks off her cheek. Sweetheart, hold on a little longer. After the semester starts, the spot will be locked in.

Dad pulled out a glittering gold pendant like a magician.

Georgette only glanced at it and gave a little huff.

I told you I didn't want this design! Why did you still buy this one?

Sweetheart, Dad went to every jewelry shop in the city and couldn't find the one you wanted! Next time I'll pay closer attention.

And you know, buying the gold pendant came with a free silver bracelet. The quality isn't great, but it'll do fine for your sister.

Inside the heavy costume, I couldn't tell what was sweat and what was tears.

I stood at the door, holding the tray, still.

The chill spread through my chest, inch by inch, until it was cold all the way through.

It wasn't until a coworker tapped my shoulder.

What are you standing there for? You don't want to earn money?

Only then did I come back to myself. I dragged the bulky body over to the table and launched into the silly birthday dance.

I finished it numbly. Georgette clapped and laughed, delighted. This mascot looks so dumb, it's hilarious.

Mom stroked her head lovingly.

Dad stood up and came over to me. Here, take this hundred as a tip. Thanks for the trouble, for making my sweetheart laugh.

I pinched the hundred in my hand and turned to hurry out of the room.

When I pulled off the head, my face was already soaked.

All these years, it was because of that guilt I felt toward my sister.

I'd handed out flyers on the roadside and hauled bricks at construction sites.

Back then my hands were swollen every day, and I couldn't even hold my chopsticks steady at meals.

The skin on my hands was rubbed raw, callus layered over callus.

Every day I worked myself to the bone to save money.

In the private room, Dad gently cut steak for my sister, bowls and chopsticks clinking softly, laughter everywhere.

The three of them, a family, whole and happy.

Only me, forever shut outside the door.

It wasn't until the shift leader's voice came through the earpiece that I walked back to the staff break room.

I barely made it to the end of my shift, and passing a photo studio.

The next second, among all the photos, I saw a few familiar figures.

In the picture, my sister wore a pale yellow dress, her eyes bright, a puppy in her arms.

Mom and Dad stood on either side of her, holding her close and warm.

The date in the bottom right corner was today.

The longer I looked, the more I laughed out loud.

In that moment, all the heavy guilt I'd carried for years finally emptied out of me, completely.

I took out my phone and called my advisor.

Professor Chavez, the study-abroad exchange spot I gave up for my sister, can I still reapply for it now?

On the other end, there were a few seconds of silence.

In principle, no. But I can ask around for you.

Connie, you've finally come to your senses. Professor Chavez said, delighted.

I held the phone, watching all the different people passing on the street. Yeah. I've come to my senses.

04.

Back home, the silver bracelet sat on the table, bright and glaring and mocking all at once.

I looked up and asked quietly, "Did you buy one for my sister too?"

Mom set down what she was doing and cupped my face.

"A nice thing like this, your dad and I couldn't bear to give her. You hold onto it, quick. If she sees it she'll throw a fit again."

Right. You really couldn't bear to hand her a promotional freebie.

Something sour welled up in my chest. I picked up the bracelet, carried it back to my room, and dropped it in the trash.

Early the next morning, I started getting my study-abroad paperwork together.

In among a stack of documents, I found two property deeds.

Something made me open them.

One was for a hundred-and-sixty-eight-square-meter home in Grandview Estates.

The other was for a two-hundred-and-eighty-square-meter storefront at 18 Fifth Avenue.

The sole owner listed on both deeds, written plainly, was my sister's name.

I stared blankly at that line of names, and inside me every last illusion about them went dark.

I still remembered the day we bought the place. Dad had held my hand, laughing, and told me it was my dowry.

My sister forced a smile and congratulated me too.

Looking at her then, guilt had filled my whole heart. I'd meant to hand it over to her once she grew up.

Tucked inside the deeds was a handwritten letter from Dad.

It recorded every single thing about my sister, from the time she was small, including the first time she learned to walk.

The first time she called for Mom and Dad, the first time she fell, her first day of school... on and on.

I turned that letter over and read it a hundred times. Not one word in it mentioned me.

I stared at the screen, my throat sealed shut as if with cement, unable to draw a breath.

Even though I'd thought nothing they did out of favoritism could touch me anymore, seeing this, I couldn't stop the ache.

It felt like a great hole had been chiseled open in my chest, cold wind howling straight through it.

Tomorrow was the final deadline for the exchange spot.

Then a huge burst of shouting came from the living room.

My sister had a knife pressed across her wrist, blood sliding down drop by drop.

"Why does she get to go abroad as an exchange student and I don't!"

Mom's brows knotted, her voice fierce.

"You wretched girl, your sister's always given in to you before, but this time, whatever you say, I will not let you snatch away her exchange spot!"

Dad stared her down.

"Your sister has a bright future ahead of her. There's no way I'll let you ruin it!"

The blood spread into a small pool.

They told me not to pay it any mind, gently taking hold of my hand.

"I won't! If I can't be the exchange student, I'll die right here in front of you!"

Watching the whole performance, it suddenly struck me how absurd it all was.

"The medicine's in the cabinet. When you have time, take her to see a psychiatrist more often."

There wasn't a flicker in my voice.

"Oh, my sweet girl, you really don't have to give it up to her!"

"She just needs a good straightening out!"

It took the whole family a beat to catch up, and then they all turned to look at me at once.

"What did you say?"

I smiled and said softly,

"This time, the spot abroad, I don't think I'll be giving it up."

05.

The living room went dead silent.

Mom recovered first. She let go of my hand as if it had burned her. Connie, what did you say?

I said, I'm not giving it up.

Blood dripped from Georgette's wrist, splattering on the floor.

She froze completely, forgetting even to cry.

Right, Connie's right! Mom's voice shot up. She glanced at Georgette, then turned back to me.

Even if something really happens to her, don't get involved.

What could possibly happen to her? I lifted my eyes to hers. That cut on her wrist was made with a fruit knife, wasn't it? There are bandages in the third drawer of the medicine cabinet. She didn't come anywhere near a vein.

Georgette's head snapped up, a flicker of panic in her eyes.

I stood and said, calmly, I'm not giving up the spot. I'm going to handle the paperwork tomorrow.

And all of you can stop acting. I'm tired just watching it.

Mom froze for a second, her face cycling through several expressions.

Connie...

I already know. All these years of putting on a show for me, it must have been exhausting.

Georgette's face is fake too, isn't it.

My parents' faces darkened at once, and Georgette caught herself and clapped a hand over the scar on her face.

Mom stepped forward. We're family. There's no need to draw such hard lines.

And she's your sister. What's wrong with giving in to her a little? When did you get so selfish!

Selfish?

I looked at them and gave a cold laugh.

Competitions, internships, the grad-school recommendation spot. Every time I stepped aside, all I got back was more scheming, endless.

For years I gave everything I could give, and in the end all I got was that one word. Selfish.

Mom, I said quietly.

This jacket I'm wearing, you bought it for me last year. I couldn't bring myself to wear it. I wanted to save the money and buy Georgette a scarf.

Those brand-name shoes in my closet, I never put a single pair on my feet. I sold them all to pay for Georgette's tutoring.

While I was working outside until my fingers were raw, you were buying her a gold pendant.

When you call me selfish, don't you feel even a trace of guilt?

Mom's mouth opened, but nothing came out.

So who's the selfish one?

Georgette grabbed my arm. Connie, I'm begging you, give me the spot. One last time.

I gently pried her hand off.

All those times I stepped aside before, what I got back was never anything real from any of you.

I'm not making that same mistake again.

With that I stopped arguing, turned, and went back to my room. Behind me came Georgette's crying and my parents' quarreling.

I ignored all of it and buried myself under the covers.