Chapter 3

"Back in high school, I submitted stories to magazines and saved up $1,000 in royalties. I kept it in a blue tin box on the top shelf of the bookcase."

Those $1,000 were the first money I had ever earned in my life.

It wasn't much. But every single dollar bore the mark of my 17-year-old self.

My mom's eyes darted around for a moment.

"Well… when your brother was starting college, we were a little short on tuition, so I used it. I figured I'd pay you back once you started earning your own money…"

"Pay you back…"

It was "Pay you back" again.

I lowered my head and gave a bitter laugh.

My mom probably thought I was laughing because I had come to terms with it.

But I hadn't. I was just laughing at myself.

I sat on Jona's Paw Patrol sheets and switched off the light.

As darkness closed in, 27 years of memories came flooding back, frame by frame, like a reel being rewound.

At 7 years old… At the dinner table on Thanksgiving, Grandma brought out a whole pot of chicken stew. She gave one drumstick to Heinz and the other to my younger cousin. I reached for a wing, but my mom held my hand back. "Let your brother eat first."

Thus, I dipped breadsticks into the chicken gravy and told myself that the gravy was delicious too.

At 12 years old… At the start of the school year, we had to pay the school supplies fee of 80 dollars. My mom searched every drawer to scrape together enough money, but it was only enough for one kid. Heinz was five years older than me and already in high school, where tuition was even more expensive. As my mom handed the money to Heinz, she said, "Your little sister will have to wait a bit longer. We'll pay hers next month when I get my paycheck."

I waited until the next month, and then the next.

The class teacher asked me in front of all my classmates why I hadn't paid yet. I kept my head down, unable to answer. That searing sense of shame burned from the base of my neck all the way to the tips of my ears.

At 15 years old… The high school entrance exams were over, and I came in third in the entire school. Heinz took the college entrance exams that same year and got into a second-tier university. My family hosted a dinner to celebrate, but the celebration was for Heinz.

They set up three tables of food. Not a single person mentioned my grades.

I went back to my room, folded my report card into a paper airplane, and threw it out the window.

At 18 years old… That was the last birthday I ever celebrated in this home.

No, actually, no one even remembered it was my birthday that day.

My mom had gone out early in the morning to deliver a quilt to Heinz's dorm. Dad had passed away for two years by then. I was the only one left at home.

I bought a tub of mashed potatoes at the small supermarket next to our rental apartment and heated it. As I spooned it into my mouth, I could smell the aroma of BBQ chicken from the window across the street.

I opened up my notebook on the desk and wrote down a single line: "One day, I'm going to carve out a beautiful life all on my own."

That year, I didn't receive a single birthday greeting from anyone.

But I did receive a letter eventually.

As for that letter… Looking back now, I just felt at the time that it had come too late.

It was early September, near the end of the admission notification period. I went to the security office in my neighborhood every day to ask if there was any mail for me. I did this for two whole months.

The old security guard would flip through the mail rack and say, "Nope."

I assumed I didn't get in.

I comforted myself by saying I must have fallen a few points short of the cutoff. The high school in our town was never very good to begin with, so just getting this high a score was already no small feat.

My mom had told me then, "Natty, now that your brother's in college, we can barely afford the tuition. Why don't you go out and get a job for a while to help support the family? We'll talk about it again when things are better."

"We'll talk about it again…" Those words later became the biggest lie of my life.

I didn't say anything else. I took my high school graduation certificate and headed to the city, where I got a job as an administrative assistant at a small company. My base salary was 1,000 dollars. Every month, on payday, my mom would call me without fail. "Natalya, things are tight at home this month…"

Things were tight for nine years. They never eased up.

*****

I sat in the dark for a long time.

It was so long that the sound of the TV in the living room outside finally faded away, and the lights in my upstairs neighbor's apartment went out as well.

Then I heard footsteps.

My mom pushed the door open a crack and poked her head in. "Natty, are you asleep yet?"

I kept quiet. She must have thought I was asleep. After hesitating for a few seconds, she tiptoed in and placed an apple on the nightstand.

As she turned to leave, she paused.

She muttered under her breath so softly it was as if she were afraid I might hear her, or as if she were speaking to herself.

"Why is this child getting more and more temperamental…"

Then the door closed behind her.

It wasn't, "Mom's sorry."

It wasn't, "Mom will think of a way."

It was, "Why is this child getting more and more temperamental."

I lay there in the dark, staring up at a water stain on the ceiling.

A crack that had been forming in my heart for a very, very long time finally fractured today.

That fracture didn't happen in an instant.