2: 2
The truth is, after Gwyneth came back, I once said I wanted to leave.
My mother cried for a whole afternoon trying to talk me out of it. "Whether or not you're our own flesh and blood, we raised you for sixteen years. You're my daughter."
My father stood outside the door and smoked through half a pack.
"I looked into it. Your birth parents passed away long ago. If you leave, you'd have nowhere to go."
"Gwynnie just can't accept you right now. Give it time, and I'm sure the two of you will become close as sisters."
So I stayed.
But every time our parents were good to me, Gwyneth would fall apart and threaten to kill herself.
At first Mom and Dad only pretended not to care about me. But the longer they performed it, the more it stopped being a performance.
I sat up in the attic.
Trying to drink enough water to bury the hunger in my stomach.
I looked at the reply from the research institute sitting in my inbox, and slowly my heart went quiet.
This family trip was supposed to celebrate Gwyneth and me graduating college. Our parents were worried Gwyneth was anxious about job hunting, so they'd taken her along to help her relax.
Not one of them asked how my own job search was going. None of them cared.
That afternoon Ivor came by the house with two gifts.
One was a Louis Vuitton monogram messenger bag, bought straight from the boutique, the receipt for twenty-three hundred dollars still tucked inside.
He handed it to Gwyneth himself.
"Starting a real job makes you a grown woman. You can't keep looking like a student. This is the bag you posted about wanting a while back. See if it suits you."
Gwyneth slung it over her shoulder and turned in front of the mirror again and again.
Then he carried the other gift and came up to the little attic with me.
"Go on, open it."
I wasn't expecting anything.
Everything he gave Gwyneth was the most expensive he could find. Mine was always the cheapest.
I tore off the wrapping.
A Coach bag from the clearance rack, one whole zero cheaper than Gwyneth's gift.
Still, it caught me off guard.
"You need a bag for work too."
The corner of my mouth had just begun to lift when he suddenly said,
"Didn't you say you got that offer from Lambert Group? Turn the job down and find yourself another one."
"Why?"
"I had a friend ask around. Gwynnie applied for the same position you did. If you drop out, she can take the spot."
His tone was careless, like he was talking about the weather.
"You took Gwynnie's parents from her for sixteen years. You owe her this."
So the bag was never a gift at all.
It was my payment for handing my job over to Gwyneth.
I looked at him and asked,
"How long has it been since you said my name?"
Ivor frowned, the way you'd look at a child throwing a pointless tantrum.
"Don't drag all that nonsense into this. The deadline's tomorrow. Turn the offer down today."
"When Gwyneth first came back, you comforted me. You said if Mom and Dad didn't want me anymore, you would. But it's been six years since you last said my name."
Everything I said was true.
Ivor's face only darkened.
"If Gwynnie hadn't been switched at birth, she's the one who would've grown up with me as childhood sweethearts. Don't act sweet after you've already gotten the better end of it."
"Remember to turn down the Lambert Group offer."
With that, he turned and walked out of the attic.
Not long after he left, Gwyneth's voice rang out, deliberately pitched loud.
"Ivor, look at you, drenched in sweat. Come sit in my room where it's cool. And stop going up to the attic. You'll give yourself heatstroke."
Ivor laughed under his breath.
"I remembered you like mango smoothies. I ordered ahead before I came. It's already waiting at the door."
Two seconds later came the sound of the door, then a straw pushing down into a drink.
Twice. Two cups. Not one for me.
My phone lit up with a notice that I'd been added to a group.
The team lead tagged me in the chat: "Kayla, you only need to bring your clothes. We've already got all the daily necessities ready for you."
"See you in three days. Welcome, Kayla."
The other members flooded the chat with welcome stickers.
My vision blurred, and the tears struck the screen of my phone.
In this house, my name was "that one, whatever her name is."
Two thousand miles away, they were saying: welcome, Kayla.
