2: 2
2
By the time I'd packed and come downstairs, Zoe was already waiting in the car.
Dad sat up front in the passenger seat.
Mom was in the back with the two golden retrievers.
The car was huge, and it was packed full.
I stood beside it and spoke quietly.
"There's no room in the car. Could we leave the dogs at home?"
The words were barely out before Mom's face went cold.
"Have you got any sense at all? Kerry's been away so long, and these two dogs are what he's missed the most. How could you leave them behind?"
Dad's brows drew together.
"A grown man who can't take the slightest inconvenience. What's wrong with taking the bus and the subway yourself? You just have to spoil it for everyone."
I hadn't slept all night, and my head felt heavy, my whole body off-balance.
"Do I have to go?"
No one was waiting for me. Why should I tag along and be the extra, pointless decoration?
"How can a child be so heartless? Your own brother's flying back and you don't even want to pick him up at the airport. Cold-blooded, ungrateful—we raised you all these years for nothing!"
Zoe sat in the driver's seat, silent the whole time.
She watched the whole family lay into me, watched me stand there worn out and humiliated, and never said a word, her eyes flat and indifferent.
"Enough. Take the bus and the subway."
The car started and pulled away without me.
Under the blazing sun, I rode a shared bike first, then squeezed onto a packed bus, and finally transferred to the subway.
The whole way was rough, and my head spun.
I got to the airport out of breath and called them.
Mom's voice carried an edge of impatience.
"We've already got Kerry. We're on the highway heading back now."
Before I could say anything, the line went dead.
I stood at the crowded, noisy airport entrance and looked up into the harsh glare of the sun.
And suddenly I laughed.
Laughed until my eyes went red and my throat closed up, with nothing but emptiness inside.
They could save the best room for my brother, throw him the grandest welcome.
But they couldn't spare even a few minutes to wait for me.
By the time I finally made it home, I was completely spent.
Tired, thirsty, hungry.
Standing in front of the house, I still couldn't get past that entry gate.
I knocked for a long time.
A neighbor leaned out, confused.
"Your family went out for lunch. How come you're not with them?"
I pushed down the sting in my eyes and called Mom.
"Private room, third floor, the Grand Meridian Hotel."
I pushed the door open. Zoe was sitting beside Kerry, peeling shrimp for him.
She was severely allergic to seafood.
In the two years we'd been together, she never touched it.
The whole table was covered in red, fiery Cajun dishes.
They all remembered that Kerry couldn't do without heat in his food.
But no one remembered that I had bad stomach ulcers and couldn't take anything spicy.
They glanced up at me and went right back to their fun.
Mom took out an elegantly wrapped gift box.
"Kerry, the newest phone. I got it just for you."
Dad pulled out a brand-new deed and pushed it across to Kerry.
"The new place is in your name."
Kerry took the deed with a wide grin and shot me a smug look.
"So doesn't that mean that from now on, if my brother lives at home, he'll have to pay me rent?"
Zoe wiped the shrimp off her hands and produced a gift box.
"A limited-edition watch. Let me put it on you."
Expensive, luxurious, dazzling.
I sat in the seat by the door, looking down at the old T-shirt on me, washed pale with wear.
I couldn't even remember how many years it had been since I'd received a gift.
Back before Kerry went abroad, every holiday, Mom and Dad would brush me off with a smile.
"You're brothers. One gift between you is plenty. No need to waste money."
But those so-called shared gifts were always in Kerry's favorite style, always his size.
Later, once Kerry went abroad, they switched to a new line.
"Kerry's out there overseas working himself to the bone, and you're comfortable at home living easy. What right do you have to fight him over gifts?"
Year after year, it was always the same.
I'd long since gotten used to having nothing, used to not being the favored one.
An unknown number rang through.
It was the project lead for the Antarctic research expedition.
"Mr. Sullivan, I'm confirming with you again. The three-year posting in Antarctica—are you certain you can accept the position and report for duty?"
"The conditions are harsh, the term is long. Once you confirm, there's no going back."
I didn't hesitate for a second.
"I'm certain."
