I stood there watching the pieces of my hard work flutter to the floor. I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. They didn’t care about my scholarship. They cared about their image. They cared about Khloe’s feelings.
I didn’t submit the essay. I wrote a generic one about working at the diner. It was fine. It was boring. I didn’t win the scholarship. I got into the university anyway based on my grades, but I didn’t get the full ride. I had to take out loans. I had to work two jobs.
When I moved into my dorm room freshman year, nobody helped me. Chloe had moved in two years prior. My parents had rented a U-Haul. They had spent the whole weekend setting up her room, buying her matching bedding, hanging curtains, filling her mini fridge. For me?
“We’re busy this weekend,” Dad said. “You have your little car. You can fit your clothes in there.”
I drove myself to college. I carried my boxes up three flights of stairs alone. I set up my bed alone. I sat on the bare mattress in the empty room and looked out the window.
I saw other parents hugging their kids in the parking lot. I saw moms crying. I saw dads handing their daughters tool kits and mace. I had nothing. I had my loans. I had my old car. And I had the burning, cold realization that I was an orphan with living parents.
I swallowed the disappointment. It was a familiar taste by now. It tasted like ash.
I told myself, “It’s okay. I’ll succeed anyway. I’ll show them. I’ll graduate with honors. I’ll make them proud.”
I was so stupid. I still wanted their approval. Even after everything, I still thought there was a finish line where they would finally clap for me. I didn’t know yet that the finish line kept moving. I didn’t know that even on my graduation day, the day I had worked four years for, they would find a way to take the spotlight away from me one last time.
But that was coming. The ultimate betrayal was just around the corner. And this time, it wouldn’t just hurt me. It would destroy us.
Three weeks, that was all the time I had left before the ceremony. I had already bought my cap and gown. I had ironed the sash. I had reserved a table at a nice restaurant for a celebratory lunch afterwards. I was going to pay for it myself, of course, but I wanted us to be together.
It was a Tuesday evening when I called them to finalize the logistics. I wanted to know what time they would be driving down so I could meet them at their hotel. I dialed the house phone. Mom picked up on the third ring.
“Hello,” she sounded distracted. I could hear the TV in the background.
“Hey, Mom. It’s Audrey,” I said, trying to keep my voice cheerful. “I’m just calling to check on the plan for graduation weekend. I wanted to know if you guys booked the hotel near campus or if you’re staying further out.”
There was a silence on the other end, a long, heavy silence.
“Mom?” I asked.
“Audrey,” she started, and I knew. I knew instantly from the tone of her voice. It was the same tone she used when she told me they couldn’t come to my play or my awards ceremony or my birthday dinner. “Audrey, listen,” she said. “We’ve been talking.”
“Talking about what?” My hand tightened around my phone.
“Your sister. She’s been having a really hard time lately,” Mom said. “Her job is stressful, and she’s just feeling very down. She’s been depressed, Audrey.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “I’m sorry she’s sad, but what does that have to do with my graduation?”
“Well, Mom, we decided that what the family really needs right now is a reset, a break. So, Dad and I booked a trip to a resort in Mexico for the three of us, for me, Dad, and Chloe.”
The world seemed to stop spinning.
“You booked a trip?” I repeated. “When?”
“The flight is next Thursday,” she said.
“But that’s graduation weekend,” I said. My voice sounded small, like I was 7 years old again. “Mom, that’s the weekend I graduate.”
“I know, I know,” she said quickly, dismissively. “But the dates for the resort were non-negotiable. It was a special package. And frankly, Audrey, we just thought you would understand. You’re always so capable. You know how fragile Khlo[e] is right now. She needs this sun and relaxation. We all do.”
My dad picked up the extension line. He must have been listening.
“Audrey,” Dad’s voice was gruff. “Look, don’t make your mother feel guilty. This trip is important for the family’s mental health. Chloe is really struggling.”
“I’m graduating from college,” I said. I felt tears pricking my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I am the first person in this family to get a degree. And you’re going to a resort?”
“It’s just a ceremony, Audrey,” Dad said. “It’s sitting in a hot stadium for 3 hours, listening to boring speeches. We can celebrate with you when we get back. We’ll do a dinner or something.”
“You won’t be back for 2 weeks,” I whispered.
“We sent a card,” Mom said. “Look, we have to go. We’re packing. Just have a good day.”
“Okay. Call us next week.”
They didn’t even ask, I said to the empty air in my apartment. They didn’t even ask if I was okay.
I realized then that they hadn’t just double-booked; they had made a choice. They looked at my biggest achievement, and they looked at a vacation with my sister, and the vacation won. I wasn’t even in the competition.
I hung up the phone. I sat on my couch in the dark. I waited for the sobbing to start. I waited for the rage, but it didn’t come. Instead, a strange calm washed over me. It was a cold, metallic feeling. It was the sound of a lock clicking shut.