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But that’ll never happen. My parents would freak and I’d rather deal with this hell than the one they’d give me if I did that. This is the problem with having siblings. It wouldn’t be so bad if we were both equally good or bad. However, my sister, Michelle, is Little Miss Perfect. I’m on the lowest ladder rung while she’s on the highest. Try competing with that.
Michelle and I typically get along, but there are occasional instances where we don’t. Where our parents wiggle between us and Michelle doesn’t hesitate to jump onto their side. Three against one isn’t a fun family dynamic. It’s why I avoid going home now if I can. My family isn’t that bad, but they can be.
I fumble my way through classes, grateful when they’re over for the day. There’s homework to do, but the only commitment I make is to pass the class. I’ll get to it eventually. My phone rings on the drive to work and I smile when a quick glance shows it’s from Brent.
“Miss me already?” I say in lieu of a hello.
“I was thinking of you, yes,” he answers. “Having a good day?
”
“I’m not having a bad day.” Not sure it’s good, but it’s definitely not bad. “You?”
“It’s fine. When do I get to see you again?”
“Straight to the point, I like that. How about Friday? I’m working tonight and tomorrow.”
“You work?” he asks curiously.
“Yeah, just at a department store near the mall. So, Friday?” My parents hate the fact that I work. What kind of parents are unhappy when their college student decides to get a job? The kind who think this kind of work is beneath me. Big eye roll, folks. Apparently, the Alexanders have high standards and being a cashier doesn’t work for them.
“Friday at five? Mind if I pick you up?”
“I certainly don’t. I’ll see you then, Brent.”
“And if you want to see me sooner, I’ll be running Thursday morning.”
I groan. “Now, you’re pushing it.” He laughs. “But I’ll think about it. I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, maybe?”
“Yeah, of course.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up just as I find a parking space. But before I can get out of my car, there’s another call. This time from my mother. I eye the screen, debating if I should answer. Reluctantly, I do. If there’s something she wants to discuss, she’ll keep calling in thirty-minute intervals until I answer.
“Hello, Mother. I can’t talk long because I’m about to clock in for work.” I get out and head inside the building.
“Are you still working at that horrid job? Why, Jamie?” She pauses for an actual response, which she should know better. She won’t get one from me.
“Is that why you called?”
“No, but I do wish you’d quit. We give you plenty with your allowance.”
“Mother, why did you call?” I ask to get her back on point.
“You’re coming home for Michelle’s birthday party, aren’t you? She would really like you to be here and it’s important you come.”
Since when is it important that I show up for a birthday party? “I don’t know. College keeps me pretty busy. I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it out there.” I don’t want to go and probably won’t.
“It’s important, Jamie,” she stresses. “You need to be here. It’ll be a big night.”
“Sorry, but I have to go. We’ll talk soon.” But hopefully not for a long time. I hang up before she can so much as breathe another word.
I don’t understand how my sister’s birthday is such an important event, for Mother to call and beg me to attend a stupid party. Why are we still throwing birthday parties anyway? She’s older than I am. I most certainly don’t want my parents to throw me a damn birthday party. Why the hell does my freaking twenty-seven-year-old sister need one?
The thoughts dig and dig under my skin while I work. It’s not even a big birthday. I couldn’t wiggle a sweet sixteen party out of them. Okay, so that’s partly because the week before they caught me sneaking into the house at four in the morning. But still. They could’ve punished me some other way. And they haven’t thrown a party for me since. Michelle has had at least three.
Favoritism has no place in families, yet it runs rampant in mine. Why do I insist on letting it get to me? Why do I feel like I should go to that damn party when it’s the last thing I want to do? Because I know it’s a simple way to put me in my parents’ good graces. Might as well take the easy way when I can.
When I leave work, campus is the last place I want to go. But I need to run. I stop by campus long enough to change my clothes and leave again. Maybe Brent won’t mind if I park at his house while I run. I decide to call to make sure.
