He paused, then added the part that always came with their praise like a hook in bait.
“We just wish you had aimed a little higher, that’s all. You were always such a bright girl.”
Were.
The conversation moved on, because it always did. My parents discussed resort amenities while Jeffrey showed them photos of his office view, and I finished my omelet wondering why I kept coming to these brunches.
Kept subjecting myself to these small cruelties disguised as family concern.
Because they were my parents. Because Jeffrey was my brother. Because family was supposed to matter even when it hurt.
The following Sunday, we met at the same Beastro again. This time my parents arrived carrying shopping bags from expensive downtown stores, like they were packing for a photo shoot instead of a vacation.
My mother showed off a new designer handbag. My father displayed a new golf club purchase.
“Got to look good in Hawaii,” my mother explained, pulling tissue paper from her bag to reveal a silk resort ensemble. “And your father simply had to have this driver. The resort has a championship golf course.”
The handbag was easily fifteen hundred. The golf club at least a thousand. Plus the clothes.
Another few hundred minimum, spent casually, like money was air.
“They’re beautiful,” I said honestly. My mother had excellent taste.
“The color suits you.”
“Thank you, darling. I thought so too.”
She glanced at my simple cotton dress from Target and I saw the familiar flicker of disappointment, the little shame she couldn’t resist pressing into me.
“You know, you could stand to invest in your appearance a bit more,” she said. “First impressions matter, especially at your age.”
I was twenty-eight, not fifty, but I let it slide.
Jeffrey arrived late as usual with Jennifer in tow. Jennifer was pretty in an obvious way, perfect makeup and perfectly styled hair.
“Sorry we’re late,” Jeffrey said, not sounding sorry at all. “We were at the Porsche dealership. Jennifer has been wanting to test drive the new Cayenne.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Jennifer gushed. “Jeffrey says if my promotion comes through, we should seriously consider it.”
My mother clasped her hands together like a child seeing fireworks.
“How wonderful. Barbara, wouldn’t it be nice to have a car like that?”
“I have a car,” I said. “It runs fine.”
“That old Honda?” Jeffrey snorted. “Thing must have two hundred thousand miles on it by now.”
“One hundred eighty-three thousand,” I corrected. “And yes, it runs perfectly. I take good care of it.”
“That is the difference between us,” Jeffrey said, leaning back. “I invest in quality. You settle for functional. It’s a mindset thing.”
The waiter took our orders. I chose the cheapest entrée on the menu out of habit, years of careful budgeting training my eyes to find the smallest number.
My family ordered appetizers, expensive entrées, and a bottle of wine. They would split the bill evenly at the end like always, meaning I would subsidize their indulgence.
Pointing that out would make me petty.
Ungrateful.
So I smiled and let it happen, because apparently that was what being family meant.
“So, Barbara,” my father said once the wine arrived, “your mother and I have been discussing something and we wanted to run it by you.”
I waited, sensing the shift. Jennifer suddenly became very interested in her phone. Jeffrey smirked into his wine glass.
“The Hawaii trip,” my mother began. “As we mentioned, it is quite expensive, and your father and I are retired, living on a fixed income.”
Technically true. Practically laughable.
“We were wondering,” my father continued, “if you might want to contribute to the trip as a gift to your parents.”
I blinked.
“Contribute how much?”
“Well, the whole thing comes to about twelve thousand,” my mother said. “We thought if you could cover it as a thank you for everything we have done for you over the years, it would be a lovely gesture.”
Twelve thousand.
Four months of my rent.
A quarter of my take-home pay.
The down payment I’d been building for three years with extra shifts and skipped vacations.
“That is a lot of money,” I said slowly.
“We raised you for eighteen years,” my father said, tone tightening. “Fed you, clothed you, put a roof over your head. Surely you can manage this one thing.”
“Jeffrey is contributing,” my mother added. “He is paying for Jennifer’s portion. See how he takes care of family?”