I’m 19 and my name’s Luca. I’ve always been the quiet one in my family. Not shy, just quiet. I learned pretty early on that the less I said, the less attention I drew. And that wasn’t always a bad thing when you grow up in a house where everything revolved around your golden child sibling.
My sister Bianca is 2 years older than me and has this magnetic spotlight chasing kind of energy. She’s the kind of person who gets praised for showing up while I had to move mountains just to be acknowledged.
I used to think it was all in my head, but over time the patterns were too loud to ignore. Like how when I got accepted into three different universities, my parents told me they didn’t want to rush into debt for something uncertain.
But when Bianca decided on a gap year in Europe, where she would find herself or something equally vague, they drained her college fund without blinking and bought her a URL pass. Or how when I landed a summer job to help with bills, my mom said I was finally pulling my weight.
While Bianca spent the summer in Mkos and came home to a surprise welcome party.
Still, I never exploded about it. Never made a scene. I let it simmer deep and quiet like a pot you forget is on the stove until the water’s gone and something’s burning.
So, when my parents sat us down at the beginning of July and announced, “We’re all going to the airport together next weekend,” I felt something shift.
I knew exactly what it meant the second the words left my mom’s mouth. Bianca was going on another trip, this time to Greece, and I was going to be left behind again. But they were framing it like a family moment, pretending we were all involved right up until the final gate.
We parked at the airport just after sunrise. I had my bag with me, not because I thought I was going anywhere, but because I was told to bring some clothes just in case something comes up at the house.
That’s how my parents talked to me, like I was some unpaid caretaker, not their son.
As we walked through the terminal, I noticed how they barely acknowledged me. My mom kept fixing Bianca’s hair, adjusting her sunglasses, fussing like it was prom night. My dad walked ahead with Bianca’s duffel bag over his shoulder like a bodyguard.
We stopped in front of gate 4C, the Athens flight.
My mom turned and wrapped Bianca in this huge emotional hug.
“Have the best time in Greece,” she whispered. “You earned this trip. You’ve worked so hard.”
That stung. Not because of the hug. I didn’t want one, but because of the earned.
I thought of all the extra shifts I’d worked last summer to help pay for a plumbing repair they blamed on me. The way I stayed up with dad’s tax forms when he couldn’t figure them out. I remembered staying behind last Christmas to watch the dog so the rest of the family could fly to Aspen.
I wasn’t earning points. I was a given, an assumption, a tool.
Then my mom turned to me.
“Someone had to stay behind and be responsible,” she said lightly, like it was a compliment.
My dad, already halfway turned away, tossed me the house keys without a second glance.
“Don’t mess anything up,” he said.
I caught the keys, nodded, and watched as they disappeared into the boarding line. I stood there for a long moment, just watching the backs of their heads fade into the crowd.
Then I looked down at the boarding pass tucked deep in my hoodie pocket.