The Home I Couldn't Taste, I No Longer Want

On the night of the fall family holiday, my dad came home with three boxes of holiday pies.

The first box was savory meat pie, salty, the kind my brother Phineas Swanson loved.

The second was sweet-filled, sugary all the way through, exactly to my sister Rosemary Swanson's taste.

When it came to me, he took out the last box, the smallest one, opened it, and turned it upside down.

A few blackened crusts rolled out and thudded against the table.

Where they'd cracked open, there wasn't even any filling inside.

One bite and it was hard enough to chip a tooth.

At the table, my mom set the last dish, the pork rib soup, in front of Phineas and Rosemary.

Then she turned and handed me a bowl of plain rice porridge with a few grains of rice floating in it.

"Soak it in there, it'll soften right up."

"You can't taste anything anyway, so the good stuff would just go to waste on you."

I gripped my chopsticks tighter.

When I was seven, Rosemary was standing in the middle of the road playing, and a truck loaded with cargo came toward us from up the street.

I shoved her out of the way and was nearly crushed under its wheels.

The sheer terror of it destroyed the nerves that let me taste anything.

After that, I became the family's garbage disposal.

Every dish my parents burned, every leftover sitting overnight in the fridge, every expired snack Rosemary didn't want.

All of it went into my stomach.

Only this time, I didn't touch anything on the table. I went straight back to my room.

Under my pillow was an envelope, and inside it, ten thousand dollars stacked neatly.

That was the money I'd saved up for my own treatment.

From now on, the sour, the sweet, the bitter, the sharp of everything, I wanted to taste all of it on my own.

1.

My mom carried the bowl all the way to my bedroom door.

"You're not going to eat this pie?"

I stuffed the envelope back in a panic and looked at the thing in her hands.

The black crust was soaking in the white porridge, and even the broth had gone pitch dark.

"No. My tooth hurts."

Her face darkened.

"If you're picky, just say you're picky. Now you've even learned to make up excuses."

"Your dad bought this especially for you. It can't go to waste."

I shook my head, wanting to tell her I wasn't lying.

Since last week, my wisdom tooth had been throbbing.

At the worst of it, even my cheek had swollen up.

But it was like they couldn't see it.

Or rather, they saw it and just didn't care.

Rosemary would point at my face and laugh.

"Sis, you're so swollen you look like a pig's head."

My dad didn't say anything to her. Instead, he dug up a strip of expired pills from somewhere and tossed it at me.

"When it hurts bad, take a couple. Just tough it out and it'll pass."

Tough it out. I'd been hearing that word for over a decade.

Back when I first realized I'd lost my sense of taste, I cried and made a fuss too.

My mom took me to the hospital for an exam.

The doctor said the whole treatment would cost more than ten thousand.

She jumped at the number, stood up right away, and led me out by the hand.

"Money's tight at home right now. Just bear with it a little longer."

"We'll get you treated once we have the money."

I nodded obediently, ate my food like a good girl, and stopped crying about it.

Later, we moved to a new place, twice the size of the old one.

I thought things had finally eased up, and I stammered out a question about when they'd take me to get treated.

My dad blew out a ring of smoke, his face full of worry.

"The mortgage on this place is heavy. The house has to come first."

"That condition of yours doesn't hurt and doesn't itch. It's nothing serious. Bear with it a while longer."

I pinched the hem of my shirt, and I believed him again.

After that, Phineas got a high-end computer worth over a hundred thousand, and Rosemary started at an expensive international school.

But I never asked again when they'd take me to the hospital.

Because I knew they'd only find some new reason to make me keep bearing it.

If it doesn't hurt, doesn't itch, and doesn't get in the way of daily life, then it can be ignored.

My mom dragged me to the table, picked up the chopsticks, and pushed them into my hand.

"Look at your brother and your sister. Every one of them is eating just fine."

"It's a holiday today. Don't go breaking your dad's heart."

Phineas ate with grease all over his mouth, the smell of meat drifting through the air.

Rosemary poured herself a cup of tea and sipped it slowly along with the sweet filling.

I looked at the lump of black starch in my bowl.

What fell before the chopsticks did were my scalding tears.

The crust was even harder than I'd expected, so all I could do was gnaw at it slowly with my front teeth.

My dad knocked the rim of a bowl against the table, ice in his voice.

"If you're not going to eat it, then don't. Who's this half-dead act supposed to be for?"

Phineas swallowed his last bite of meat pie and joined in with a frown.

"Don't be someone who has it good and doesn't know it."

"Think how many people out there don't even get enough to eat."

I forced down a mouthful of the black crust and felt it lodge hard in my throat.

And in my chest, too, everything was jammed up tight.

That night the lights went out, and moonlight spilled across the edge of the bed.

I lay there with my stomach hard as a bag of stones.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

My dad was sending holiday cash gifts in the family group chat, the way he always did.

First he sent one to my mom. Fifty-two hundred.

"You keep this whole household running, inside and out. You've worked so hard."

Then he sent one to Phineas. Sixty-six hundred.

"Almost a year since you graduated. I hope your career goes smoothly from here."

Last, he sent Rosemary eighty-eight hundred, with an even simpler reason.

"Spending money. Take it and enjoy yourself. Just ask me if it isn't enough."

I stared at the phone, my palm damp with nervous sweat.

But I waited until my eyes ached, and no next gift ever popped up in the chat.

Everyone had a share. Except me.

No one remembered that I'd graduated college this year either, or where the job I'd found was, or how far it was from home.

I closed my eyes, a bitter tide rising in my chest.

I rolled over and reached under the pillow, feeling for the ten thousand dollars.

The money I'd saved was already enough for my treatment.

The new job was over a thousand miles from home, with room and board covered.

That distance and that deal were enough that I'd never have to come home again.

Early the next morning, my mom was already busy in the kitchen.

I sat down, and the moment my hand touched the bowl of millet porridge, she rapped the back of it with her chopsticks.

"That's your brother's. You eat this."

She set a plate in front of me with two savory meat pies left over from the night before.

"Hurry up and eat, so nobody can go around saying we play favorites."

I sniffed, and for once something warm stirred in my chest.

I bit down, tasting nothing, but the texture was strange.

I looked down.

The meat inside had gone bad, already leaking a sticky film.

I spat it out at once.

"Mom, this pie's spoiled."

She glared at me like I was being fussy.

"A little dirt never killed anyone, and you can't taste the bad in it anyway."

I pressed my lips together, and for a hazy second I thought I was imagining things.

A faint bitterness seemed to spread through my mouth.

I have no sense of taste.

But I still get stomachaches. I still get sick.

Four years ago, during the three days of the SATs, my mom volunteered to cook for me.

I didn't refuse. I even cleaned my plate.

The first exam had barely started when my stomach began to cramp, like someone pounding it with a hammer.

I gritted my teeth and held on to the end.

Because of it, I scored the lowest I'd ever gotten on the English section in all of high school, and lost my shot at my dream school for good.

Afterward I went home in tears, and for the first time my mom slammed her chopsticks on the table.

"So now I cook for you and I did it wrong?"

"Those dishes only sat in the fridge two days. There's no way they'd go bad."

My dad chimed in from the side.

"Don't go pinning your own failures on other people. Look harder at yourself."

I stood there at the table, and all at once I didn't even have the strength to be angry.

That evening, Uncle Gerald and his family came over with gifts.

There weren't enough chairs at the table, so I stood off to the side alone.

My mom brought me a low stool and wedged me in between her and Rosemary.

The stool was too low, and the table edge caught right under my chin.

Even reaching for food was a struggle.

Rosemary picked up a bite of scrambled eggs with peppers and casually flicked the peppers into my bowl.

My mom picked up a piece of braised lamb and dropped the seasoning bits, the scallion and ginger and garlic, into my bowl too.

Across the table, my five-year-old little cousin suddenly broke into a grin.

"Susie, you look just like our Blackie."

My chewing stopped.

Blackie was their golden retriever, a big eater who wasn't picky and would eat anything.

Even the height he sat at beside the table looked a little like me right now.

Uncle Gerald gave the top of her head a light pat.

"Can't even keep your mouth shut long enough to eat."

But the look he turned on me was full of contempt and pity he couldn't hide.

Heat welled up around my eyes. I bit down hard on the tips of my chopsticks and didn't say another word.

When the last person set down their bowl, I stood up, took the hint, and cleared the table.

In the kitchen, thick grease and dish soap swirled down the drain together.

Outside, Uncle Gerald was talking.

"There's a food festival in the next city over tomorrow. Work gave me five tickets."

"We don't have that many people in our family, so they'll be perfect for you all."

My mother took them and thanked him.

"Perfect timing. It's been ages since the whole family went out together."

Something twisted in me. The whole family.

The last time we all went out together was for my brother Phineas's college graduation ceremony.

But my graduation ceremony, not one of them came.

My little cousin stared, hungry for it, practically drooling.

"Dad, I want to go too."

Phineas pulled her onto his lap and ruffled her hair.

"Little glutton, then you'd better stick close to us tomorrow."

Then he turned and glanced at me.

"We just won't bring Susie. She's no use there anyway."

My grip slipped, and the bowl in my hands nearly hit the floor.

The next topic started up amid the laughing and joking.

No one objected.

It was all settled, smooth and natural.

The strange thing was, I wasn't even surprised.

After all, it had been like this for more than ten years.

Their early heartache had turned to numbness, and now this illness had become a flaw everyone knew me by.

The sky was barely light when the noise started outside.

"Mom, how do I look in this?"

"Phineas, let me borrow your baseball cap."

I curled up on the bed as cramps wrenched through my stomach in waves.

Cold sweat soaked the sheets under me over and over.

Shaking, I got out of bed.

I opened the door. They were already dressed and ready to go.

I clutched the hem of my mother's shirt like the last straw I had to hold on to.

"Can you take me to the hospital? My stomach hurts so much."

Everyone stopped moving.

I thought I'd get at least one word of concern.

But the first thing I heard was this.

"You're quite the little actress."

I froze for a second, and my grip loosened.

"What do you mean?"

Phineas let out a small scoff, his tone mocking.

"We just didn't take you to the food festival. Do you really have to make such a scene over it?"

"Getting up at the crack of dawn to paint your face all pale, playing sick here. Is it fun?"

The hem was yanked out of my palm without mercy.

My mother swung her bag onto her back and turned briskly away.

"We're both women. You think I don't know what's going on in that head of yours?"

Rosemary turned around, made a face, and grabbed my little cousin's hand to hurry after them.

Downstairs, my father's car had long been waiting, engine off.

Mom and Dad sat in front.

Phineas and Rosemary sat in back, shielding my little cousin between them.

One family, one car, packed just right.

The car pulled away fast, as if afraid of something dirty clinging to it, and soon all I could see were two taillights in the distance.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead, didn't bother to change, and took a cab to the hospital alone.

The moment I got out, I collapsed at the hospital door.

The driver got a terrible fright.

"Doctor, this person's unconscious!"

When I came to, I was already lying on an exam bed, a needle taped into the back of my hand.

The doctor handed me my chart.

"Acute gastroenteritis. The pain can be unbearable."

"And there's a hard mass in your stomach that's very difficult to digest. Left too long, it'll turn into acute bowel obstruction."

"You came alone? Where are your parents?"

I clenched my teeth and shook my head.

"I don't have parents."

From today on, I have no home, and no family.

He sighed and wrote me up a few more bottles of medicine.

"Take them on time. Don't treat your own body like it's nothing."

I nodded. It took more than ten minutes before the cramps finally eased enough to bear.

I opened my feed. Rosemary had posted something new.

A nine-square grid of food photos, with a group shot in the middle.

A whole family, all together.

Five people. Not me.

And suddenly I understood.

The Rosemary who used to hold my hand as a child, crying with guilt until she was blowing snot bubbles, had been gone for a long time.

And the place in this family that belonged to me had quietly been disappearing just as long.

It was almost fully dark by the time I got back from the hospital.

The doctor had jabbed in the needle in a hurry, and the puncture mark on the back of my hand had gone a bruised purple.

I pushed the door open, and Rosemary came running over with a smile.

She grabbed my hand, pressing down right on the wound.

"Sis, where'd you go?"

"I brought you something to eat."

She held out a clear plastic bag.

Inside was half an order of fried tofu bites, one piece still marked with a row of teeth prints.

The rest was a few leftover chicken tenders mixed in with a handful of leftover grilled veggie skewers.

I walked past her without turning my head.

"Trash goes in the trash can. I'm not eating that."

A hand slapped the table. My father glared at me, his face cold.

"Is that any way to talk to your sister!"

I ignored him and went straight to my room.

The suitcase I'd brought back from school was still open on the floor.

I stuffed in my documents and the few old clothes left in the closet, and when I finally reached under the pillow for the envelope, my hand came up empty.

My heart skipped several beats.

I flipped the pillow over, then carefully checked the headboard and the gap along the wall.

Nothing.

The laughing and joking from the living room went on.

I stood there in the room, breaking into a cold sweat.

I dragged myself out to the living room like something half-dead.

"Which one of you took my money?"

Everyone looked up at me.

My voice wouldn't stop shaking.

"The envelope I put under my pillow, with ten thousand in it. It's gone."

"Whoever took it, give it back."

My mother took a sip of water, her expression easy.

"I took it."

"I saw you hide it under the pillow that day."

"We were short on household money last month, and everyone went out today, so I took yours to help cover it."

She said it openly, without a trace of guilt in her tone.

The household money was short because Rosemary had thrown a fit until she got a new camera.

The whole set had run over thirty thousand.

My eyes went red in an instant.

"On what grounds? That's my money!"

"Taking something without asking isn't borrowing, it's stealing!"

My father stood up, and this time his hand didn't come down on the table. It landed hard across my face.

The crack of the slap tangled with his cursing, a roar buzzing in my ears.

"What do you mean your money, that's this family's money!"

"We feed you, we clothe you, so what if we take a little of your money?"

My voice came out hoarse, thick with the sob in my throat.

"Throwing me the scraps you won't eat, is that what you call feeding me?"

Phineas stood up with a frown and moved to shield my mother.

"Don't let a little money ruin the feeling in this family."

I looked at him and said it one word at a time.

"That's not a little money. That's four years of treatment money I scraped together the hard way."

Other people spent their winter and summer breaks traveling or resting at home.

I made milk tea, on my feet for over ten hours a day.

I handed out flyers too, in ninety-degree heat, almost passing out from the heat inside a mascot costume.

My eyes moved over every single one of them standing there.

"The illness you wouldn't pay to treat, I'm saving up to treat myself."

Rosemary hid at the very back, craning her head to look at me.

Her eyes were full of thick disgust.

I looked at the gold bracelet swinging on her wrist and realized she would probably never understand why I'd suddenly lost my temper today.

My mother looked at me, her eyes reddening, two clean lines of tears running down.

She fell back onto the sofa, pounding her own chest with all her strength.

"How did I ever give birth to such an ungrateful, cold-hearted wretch."

Everyone crowded around to comfort her.

Pouring water, rubbing her back.

No one cared that I was falling apart.

I stood in the corner like a stranger who'd wandered in by accident.

I didn't argue anymore. I went back to my room, locked the door, and lay awake all night.

The weather was fine the day I left.

I'd rebooked the earliest flight, and I zipped the suitcase shut with a hard pull.

Before I walked out, I took off the key that belonged to me and set it down on the entryway table.

I left without a single extra word.

At the airport.

The plane tore off the runway, carrying me farther and farther from that so-called home.

At seven, my mother walked out of her room, yawning.

When she saw the state of the kitchen, her eyes went wide.