The Family Chat That Answered Everyone Except Me Chapter 01
The day the settlement check came through, my parents opened unlimited supplementary cards for everyone. Everyone except me.
I was about to say something, but Mom had already turned to grab her purse.
“Your sister needs to network for her business, and your brother’s dating. You have a steady job. If you ever need money, just tell me.”
I pulled my hand back into my pocket.
I always thought that if I never fought for anything, eventually I’d earn a little of their affection.
Then acute appendicitis hit. I couldn’t even stand straight. The nurse kept pushing for the surgery deposit. Thirty thousand dollars.
I called Mom, hands shaking. She was at a boutique with my sister, picking out a limited-edition handbag.
“Just a minute. Your sister’s bag finally came in—she can’t leave right now.”
I called Dad, teeth clenched. He was at a dealership test-driving a car with my brother.
“You don’t even have thirty thousand? Can’t you get the hospital to front it?”
I was drenched in cold sweat. In the end, I begged my coworkers to cover the deposit, signed the consent form myself, and went into surgery alone.
Three days later, I shuffled home, one hand pressed against the wound.
I pushed open the door. My sister was photographing her designer handbag. My brother was on the couch, twirling new car keys.
Mom came out with a fruit bowl and gave me a once-over.
“You’re never home, and you smell awful. Go do your laundry.”
Nobody noticed how pale I was. Nobody remembered the call I’d made three days ago.
That night, I packed all my things.
Out in the living room, laughter rang loud and bright.
Nobody knew I’d just signed an out-of-state transfer contract. Two thousand miles away.
***
“Elena, your surgery—how did it go, anyway?”
Mom asked over dinner. Just casual.
Five days. Five days since I’d signed the form alone, shaking with pain outside the OR. Five days later, she remembered to ask.
“A coworker covered it. I’m fine.”
“Oh, good.”
She nodded and reached for another serving with her fork.
“How much?”
“Thirty-two thousand dollars.”
“That much?” She frowned. “I’ll take care of it later.”
Later.
Same as last time.
The day the settlement money came in, she got Victoria an unlimited card. For business. She got Ethan one. So he wouldn’t look cheap while dating. She kept the main account for Dad.
I stood at the bank counter for forty minutes, watching her finish three cards and tuck them into her purse.
“Mom, what about mine?”
She zipped the purse without looking back.
“You have a steady job. If you ever need money, just tell me.”
Tell her when I needed money.
I told her.
The day my appendix burst, the nurse asked for the deposit three times. I dialed with shaking hands.
Mom’s background was mall music and Victoria chattering about patterns.
“Just a minute. Your sister’s busy here.”
Dad’s side was worse. Engine roaring, Ethan yelling, “Floor it!”
“You don’t even have thirty thousand? Can’t the hospital just cut you some slack?”
Cut some slack. The payment notice said in black and white: Deposit required before surgery. He wanted me to ask for slack.
“Dad, a coworker covered my surgery. I need to pay her back.”
Dad was on the couch watching stocks, screen flickering red and green.
“Hm? Don’t you have a salary?”
“Two hundred left after rent.”
“Then spend less.”
He didn’t even look up.
Halfway through dinner, Mom went to the kitchen.
She came back with a plate of BBQ ribs. Golden, glistening with sauce.
She set it right in front of Ethan.
“Ethan, just reheated. Eat while it’s hot.”
My brother Ethan grabbed two at once, chewing loudly, sauce on his lips.
“Mom, this is even better than last time.”
My sister Victoria reached over and snatched two.
“I want some too.”
“Don’t eat too much. Aren’t you watching your weight?” Mom said. Then she scooped another piece onto her plate anyway.
The plate went back and forth between them twice.
By the time my fork reached it, only a smear of sauce was left.
Not a single piece.
Mom glanced at the empty plate and said nothing. Got up to clear the dishes.
She didn’t even think about it. Didn’t notice one person hadn’t eaten a thing.
After dinner, Ethan pushed his plate aside and collapsed on the couch, scrolling his phone. Victoria went to her room. Video call voices drifted through the wall.
Mom stood in the living room, scanning. Her eyes landed on me.
“Elena, fold the laundry on the balcony. It’s about to fall off.”
The incision still ached.
I pushed myself up from the table. A beat too slow.
Nobody noticed.
My phone lit up. Collins from work had messaged me.
“Elena, no rush on the thirty thousand. Take your time.”
Another line underneath.
“Does your family know you had surgery?”
I stared at those words for a long moment. Typed “they know.” Deleted it. Typed “thank you.”
Sent it.
A notification popped up from the family group chat.
Ethan posted a video. His new car on the road, with a rocket emoji.
Mom sent a string of hearts and thumbs-up.
Victoria wrote, “Ethan, drive safe.”
Dad said, “Not bad.”
I typed out: “When can I get reimbursed for the thirty-two thousand dollar surgery?”
Sent.
Fifteen minutes passed.
No response.
Ethan sent another voice message: “Mom, can you take my car for tinting tomorrow? I’ve got hoops with the guys.”
Mom replied instantly: “Sure. Leave the keys on the table.”
I left the group chat. Turned off the screen.
Bank balance: one hundred and forty dollars. I still owed Collins twenty-one thousand.