Well, it was simple until my older sister Martha re-entered the picture. Martha is 32, and how do I put this nicely? She’s never exactly been the responsible type.
Growing up, she was the golden child. I don’t know if it was because she was the firstborn or if our parents just have a soft spot for her, but she could do no wrong in their eyes. She dropped out of college, not once, but twice. The first time it was because she didn’t feel inspired. The second time, she said the professors were too demanding.
She’s never held down a job for more than a few months. Every time something didn’t go her way, she’d quit and come up with some excuse about how it wasn’t her fault. Our parents always bailed her out.
Late on rent, they’d pay it. Car broke down, they’d cover the repair. Got a speeding ticket, Mom would write the check while muttering about how the police target young women.
Meanwhile, I was scrubbing toilets at a diner to save up for college and taking out loans to cover tuition.
Martha had been living on her own for the past couple of years, or so I thought. Turns out she’d been bouncing between different apartments, constantly behind on rent and leaning on our parents to keep her afloat. I didn’t know any of this until she showed up one day and casually mentioned she was pregnant.
Now, I’m not here to judge anyone for their life choices, but let’s just say Martha wasn’t exactly in a stable situation. The father of the baby was some guy she’d been seeing for a couple of months, and from what I could gather, he wasn’t thrilled about the whole surprise baby thing. He pretty much vanished as soon as she told him.
You’d think this would be Martha’s wake-up call, right? Like maybe this was the moment she’d realized she needed to get her life together, but no. Instead, she ran straight to Mom and Dad, who immediately went into fix-it mode.
Within a week, they’d started renovating the basement to turn it into a little apartment for her. They even put in a kitchenette. I didn’t ask where the money was coming from, but I overheard Mom mention dipping into their retirement savings.
I tried to stay out of it because, honestly, it wasn’t my business. If they wanted to throw money at Martha, that was their choice.
But the thing is, I could already see the writing on the wall. My parents have this way of dragging everyone else into Martha’s problems. It’s like they think we all have to band together to help her out, no matter how much of a mess she’s made.
At first, I told myself it wouldn’t affect me. The basement was being turned into Martha’s little apartment, so she’d have her own space. I figured she’d move in, do her thing, and I’d go on with my life.
Sure, it was a little frustrating to watch them bend over backward for her again, but I tried not to dwell on it.
That mindset worked for about two months. Then little things started piling up.
First, Mom began making comments about how I should spend more time with Martha since she was going through so much. Never mind that I was working full-time and coming home exhausted most days.
Then came the subtle guilt trips. Mom would say things like, “You know, Martha doesn’t have anyone else to lean on right now. It’s so hard being pregnant and single.”
She’d say this while looking directly at me like I was supposed to magically solve all of Martha’s problems.
Dad wasn’t any. He’d find ways to work Martha into every conversation.
“You should be grateful for everything you have, Abby,” he’d say while passing the salt at dinner. “Not everyone’s as lucky as you.”
Lucky? I was barely scraping by, trying to build a career and save money. Meanwhile, Martha was getting a fully renovated apartment handed to her along with endless emotional and financial support.
But things hit another level when I overheard a conversation between Mom and Dad one night. They were in the living room, and I was in the kitchen making tea.
“She’s going to need a lot of help once the baby comes,” Mom said.
“Of course,” Dad replied. “We’ll all pitch in.”
“All?” Mom asked.
“Well, you, me, and Abby,” Dad said like it was obvious.
I nearly dropped my mug. They hadn’t said anything to me about this plan, but it was clear they’d already decided I was going to be part of it.
That’s when I started to feel uneasy. I didn’t know the specifics yet, but I could tell they were cooking up something that was going to pull me into Martha’s chaos, whether I liked it or not.
The uneasy feeling only grew when Martha started coming over more often. She’d flop onto the couch complaining about how hard it was to be pregnant and how unfair it was that her ex had bailed.