The Family Chat That Answered Everyone Except Me Chapter 02
“Elena, come in here.”
Mom stood at the master bedroom door, looking off. I put down the mop and walked over. She closed the door behind me.
Dad sat on the bed, phone in hand.
“Your sister says she can’t find a gold necklace she put in her drawer last week. Have you seen it?”
Gold necklace. Victoria bought it last month with her card. For “business presence.”
“I didn’t touch her things.”
“She said you helped clean her room last week.”
“She asked me to fold her clothes. I finished and left. I didn’t open a single drawer.”
Mom crossed her arms, lips pressed into a tight line.
“How long were you in her room?”
“Ten minutes. Folding time.”
“Ten minutes? With all those clothes, you finished in ten minutes?”
I looked at her. It was absurd. She was calculating whether ten minutes was enough time for me to steal a necklace.
“Mom, are you accusing me of stealing?”
“Nobody said stealing. I’m just asking.”
“The way you’re asking sounds like accusing.”
Dad sighed.
“Alright, let’s drop it for now.”
“Why is it always me? Why do you always ask me first?”
It came out before I could stop it.
Mom’s face went dark.
“Always? This is the first time I’ve asked.”
It wasn’t the first time.
When Ethan’s game console went missing as a kid, they asked me first. When Victoria’s hair clip disappeared in middle school, me first. Last month when yogurt went missing from the fridge, Mom’s first words were, “Elena, did you take it?”
Later, we found the yogurt in Ethan’s car. Six cups, all empty, stuffed under the passenger seat.
Nobody apologized.
“Alright, we’ll talk later.”
Mom waved it off, but her expression still said she didn’t believe me.
I knew how it worked. Next time anything went missing, I’d still be the first one they called.
I went out to buy groceries that afternoon.
At the door, changing shoes, I heard Ethan talking to Mom in the living room.
“Mom, the dealership quoted twenty-three thousand for maintenance and new rims.”
“Twenty-three thousand? Didn’t we just get it tinted last month?”
“Tinting’s tinting, rims are rims. The stock ones are ugly. If I don’t swap them, the car looks cheap.”
“Fine. Charge the supplementary card.”
Twenty-three thousand dollars. One question, and it was approved.
My surgery cost thirty-two thousand. I’d asked three times. Each time: “We’ll see.”
Ethan’s rims and maintenance. Twenty-three thousand. A few words, done.
That night in bed, the incision started to throb again.
Doctor said no heavy lifting. Rest.
Today I’d carried groceries twice, done everyone’s laundry, mopped the floor twice.
Nobody remembered I’d had surgery ten days ago.
In the living room, Mom was talking to Dad about Ethan’s car.
“He wants a new sound system. Eighteen thousand.”
“More money?”
“If he’s happy, that’s what matters. We earn money to spend on our kids, right?”
For the kids.
Victoria was a kid. Ethan was a kid.
I wasn’t.
My phone lit up. Family group.
Victoria posted: “Mom, I found my necklace. It was in my makeup bag’s hidden pocket.”
Mom replied with an “OK” emoji.
Nobody said, “Sorry we suspected Elena.”
It was like that afternoon’s interrogation had never happened.
I stared at that “OK” for a long time.
Flipped the phone over, tucked it under my pillow.
Closed my eyes.
The incision ached again.
Not the physical kind.
The other kind.