Chapter 2

"Don't make excuses."

She cut me off, reaching out to dump a basket of vegetables onto the counter.

"Wash them, fast. Ralphie eats at twelve-thirty. If you hold up your brother's lunch, I won't let it go."

With that, she turned and walked out.

The curtain over the doorway slapped back and forth.

I gritted my teeth and finished the dishes, then crouched down to scrub the grease off the kitchen floor.

When I stood up, everything went black, and I swayed twice before I caught the wall.

My chest felt tighter than ever.

The pain came in waves, like being jabbed with needles.

I leaned against the wall for a long while before I could start trimming the vegetables.

Lunch was already on the table before Ralph finally got up off the couch, taking his time.

He scanned the table, picked up a rib, took a bite, and frowned right away.

"Mom, how'd you cook these ribs? They're way too salty!"

Mom quickly grabbed a piece and tasted it, then whipped around to glare at me.

"What is wrong with you? Can't you measure the salt? You know your brother likes his food mild!"

I gripped my chopsticks and apologized in a small voice.

"I'm sorry. It's my first time. I'll be careful next time."

"You think there's going to be a next time? Your brother's about to start college. Boys develop slowly, this is a crucial time for him to grow. Don't you know too much salt is bad for him?"

Mom slid the ribs over toward Ralph and piled several more pieces into his bowl.

"Ralphie, be good. If it's really too salty, just eat more rice. Next time I'll stand right there and watch her cook."

The three of them talked and laughed, and no one looked at me again.

The dishes sat in the center of the table, out of reach from my corner.

But no one served me any food.

All I could do was hold my bowl and shovel down plain rice, the pain in my chest coming wave after wave.

When he'd finished eating, Ralph shoved his bowl away and went back to his room to keep playing his games.

I was just about to sit down and rest when Mom came over with an armful of clothes and dropped them at my feet.

"These are the clothes Ralphie wore a few days ago. They're all designer, you can't put them in the machine. Wash them by hand."

"And mop the living room floor again. Ralphie's going to come out for watermelon later, and he doesn't like wearing slippers."

I looked at the pile of dirty clothes.

There were jackets, socks, even underwear.

My stomach turned.

"Mom, I'm not feeling well..."

Mom's voice shot up at once.

"Here we go again, right? A little work and you're not feeling well. Why are you so much trouble? I think you're just faking sick to get out of the work!"

Ralph heard her from his room and stuck his head out, snorting.

"I said not to bring her back, but you wouldn't listen. Girls are nothing but trouble, so dramatic. A little work and they whine about being tired. I really don't get why we brought her back. Now I can't even go around shirtless at home."

Dad sat on the couch, looking at his phone.

He heard all this and smiled, waving Ralph over.

"Silly kid, what do you know?"

"What don't I know?"

Ralph sauntered over and picked up a slice of watermelon to chew on.

Dad lowered his voice, but I was standing close enough to hear every word.

"You've got college ahead of you, then getting married after you graduate, buying a house, paying the dowry. On just your mom's and my earnings, how long would that take?"

"An extra pair of hands is an extra pair of hands. She's grown now, she can work and earn money. In a few days we'll put her in the factory, that's several thousand a month, and we'll save it all for you. Another three to five years and we'll marry her off to somebody back home, the dowry alone will be over a hundred thousand, and there's your down payment."

Ralph let out an "Oh," like it had all just dawned on him.

He looked me up and down and said, dismissive:

"So that's how it is. Fine, then she can just stay home. She can do the work either way."

I stood there, and all the blood in me went cold.

So that was it.

So much for family, so much for being blood.

I was just a tool they'd brought back to make money for their son.

Mom turned and glared at me, her voice thick with impatience.

"What are you still standing around for? Go wash those clothes! Quit standing there in the way, putting on that pitiful act. Who's it supposed to impress?"

I didn't say anything. I bent down, gathered up the pile of clothes, and went into the bathroom.

Standing at the sink scrubbing the clothes, my chest started aching after just a few strokes, and I had to stop and catch my breath for a long while.