Chapter 1

When I was ten, my parents divorced and remarried, leaving me with my grandfather.

The next time I saw them was the summer after graduation. They came to the restaurant where I worked to book a private room.

My father walked in with his stepson, smiling as he said, "My son scored 1550 on his SAT. Give us the biggest room."

My mother came with her young daughter, asking for the room next door. "It's my daughter's seventh birthday. I need a big one, too."

They glanced at each other, then looked away.

"Getting her such a big party at this age," my father said. "You really do spoil her."

My mother replied politely, "Your son got such a great score. He'll go far."

Neither of them recognized me, the student who got a perfect 1600, their real son.

I wiped my hands clean of grease and wrote down their requests.

My father ordered a seafood feast because his son loved it.

My mother brought a homemade cake and asked to store it in the fridge.

Before leaving, my father casually asked, "What about that one? Did you hear from him? Did he even take the test?"

My mother paused. "No idea. He never contacted me."

I didn't look up. I typed back a message to the real estate agent.

Once I sold my grandfather's house, I could finally leave this city without looking back.

*****

At six in the evening, the manager came to the back kitchen and called someone over. There was a problem with the private room setup, and the customer specifically asked for the person responsible to apologize.

I took off my dishwashing gloves and apron, trying to wipe off the grease splatters on my shirt, but only made the stains worse.

I pressed my lips together and followed the manager to the door of the private room my dad, David Foster, had booked.

Through the door, I could hear David trying to calm his stepson, Alex Foster, down. "Alex, don't be mad. It's the staff. They're so clueless that they can't even blow up balloons right.

"Didn't you want the Apple trio? Once we're out of here, we'll go buy them: laptop, phone, the works, all top-of-the-line."

I stared down at my washed-out, cheap canvas shoes.

Next month's living expenses were still up in the air. If I lost this part-time job, I'd be eating pasta with nothing but water for another month.

I pushed the door open and bowed at a 90-degree angle. "I'm sorry. It was my mistake."

"Spare me!" Alex pouted. "The balloon arch was supposed to look nice, but the top one's deflated. It looks awful. Now the pictures are going to look terrible."

David immediately tried to calm him down. "Alright, alright, we'll have them redo it. All new balloons."

I climbed up the ladder and stretched out to grab the deflated balloon.

A man sitting beside David started lecturing his own kid. "See that? You should learn from Alex.

"If you don't get good grades, you'll end up working for someone else, like this server here. That's all your life will ever be."

David proudly put his arm around Alex. "Alex is such a good kid, and smart too. He really outdid himself this time. He scored more than ten points higher than his mock exams."

Pretending I didn't hear a word, I took a deep breath and stuffed all the messy feelings in my chest right into the balloon.

I honestly can't remember the last time David called me his good kid.

All I remember was him always fighting with my mom, Susan Zimmerman, slamming doors, throwing dishes.

Whenever he got angry, he'd spot me and unload all his rage, calling me an eyesore, a debt collector, and blaming me for holding him back.

When I got into the key high school, I secretly used my grandpa's phone to send him a message.

He replied: [I'm living a happy life now. Please don't bother me anymore.]

I wanted to tell him that my grades were actually much better than Alex's.

Honestly, I was well-behaved, too. I never made things difficult for him.

I wasn't trying to bother him. But I missed him.

But he didn't know, or maybe he didn't want to know.

After finally swapping out the balloons, I'd barely stepped out of the private room when someone from next door called over, "Excuse me, could you help us cut the cake?"

When I walked in, Susan was taking pictures, holding her little girl close.

When she saw I'd accidentally ended up in the photo, Susan shot me a glare. "Seriously? Can't you take a hint? Are all the servers here this clueless and rude?"

I hurried over to the corner.

Susan grabbed a Barbie birthday crown from the table. "Honey, look! It's your favorite Barbie crown. I had it made for you. Do you like it?"

The little girl dashed around the room, waving her doll in the air.

Susan chased after her, smiling, one hand shielding her from the sharp table corners, the other dabbing at her sweaty forehead with a tissue.

That gentle, loving look on her face made me feel a little dazed. It made me wonder if I was looking at someone else entirely.

When I was five, Susan forgot I was allergic to mangoes. I ate one by accident and ended up spending a week in the hospital.

When I was eight, she got the parent-teacher meeting time wrong, and the whole class laughed at me, calling me an orphan.

At the start of the year, my grandpa got really sick and passed away. By the time I got back from boarding school, everything was already done.

The neighbor told me Susan didn't even remember which high school I went to or my homeroom teacher's number, so she never even told me.

It wasn't that she was forgetful or careless. She never gave me even a tiny bit of the love a mom should have for her kid.

I turned around and gently closed the door on all that noise and laughter.

When I looked up, I ran right into a pair of familiar eyes. I froze. "What are you doing here?"