“Is he going to be okay?” she asked as I checked his vitals.
“He is responding well to the antibiotics,” I assured her. “His oxygen levels are improving. We will keep him for observation, but I think he will pull through just fine.”
She started crying.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much. You have been so kind to us.”
And all I could hear in my head was my brother’s voice.
Service-level staff.
Lower levels.
As if this moment—this mother’s relief, this child’s recovery—meant nothing.
During my lunch break, I sat in the hospital cafeteria and made a decision. I would pay for the trip.
Not because they deserved it.
Because I couldn’t handle the guilt otherwise.
I transferred twelve thousand from my savings to my checking account and set up a payment to my mother’s account.
Then my phone rang.
“Barbara,” my mother said bright and excited, “we are here at the Beastro. Jeffrey suggested we all have lunch together. Can you come? We have such good news to share.”
“I’m at work,” I said. “I’m on my lunch break.”
“Oh, this won’t take long. We’re just around the corner from the hospital. Please.”
Something in her tone made me uneasy, but I agreed.
Twenty minutes later I walked into the same Beastro. My family sat at the same corner table, champagne glasses already filled.
Jeffrey had his arm around Jennifer, and Jennifer wore a massive diamond on her left hand.
“We’re engaged,” my mother squealed. “Jeffrey proposed last night.”
“It’s wonderful,” I said, forcing my face into the right shape. “Congratulations.”
“The wedding will be next fall,” Jeffrey said. “Destination ceremony. Maybe Italy or the French Riviera.”
“How exciting,” I said, already numb.
My mother grabbed my hand.
“Now, about the Hawaii trip. Have you made your decision?”
All eyes turned to me. Jennifer looked curious. Jeffrey looked amused. My parents looked expectant.
Then I heard it.
Really heard it.
“Barbara,” my father said, leaning forward, “we know money is tight for you. But surely you understand how important this is to us. We’ve given you so much. Don’t you think it’s time to give back?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” I said slowly. “About how much you’ve given me.”
My mother brightened.
“See? I knew you’d understand.”
“You raised me for eighteen years,” I said. “Food, shelter, basic parenting. What the law required. What any parent gives their child.”
My mother’s smile faltered.
“That’s not fair,” she said.
“You paid for Jeffrey’s MBA,” I said calmly. “Eighty thousand.”
My father waved a hand.
“An investment in his future.”
“You gave him twenty thousand for a down payment,” I said. “You co-signed his car lease. You paid for his professional wardrobe. You gave him seed money for investments.”
I looked at them steadily.
“How much total would you say you’ve given Jeffrey over the years?”
“That’s different,” my father said, cooling. “Jeffrey has ambition. We supported his potential.”
“And what did you give me?” I asked.
Silence.
“For nursing school, I asked for five thousand for certification fees,” I said. “You said no. You told me to budget better, to work more hours, to figure it out.”
“You did figure it out,” my mother said quickly. “See? It built character.”