‘We Didn’t Order For You,’ Dad Said, Sliding Me Bread While My Brother Enjoyed His Steak. His Wife Said, “It’s Nice You Could Make It.” When The Bill Came, Dad Said: “Let’s Split It Fairly.”

‘We Didn’t Order For You,’ Dad Said, Handing Me Bread While My Brother Enjoyed His $400 Steak. His Wife Sneered, “Be Grateful You’re Invited.” When The Bill Came, Dad Said: “Let’s Split It Fairly.”

I REPLIED: “SURE-I’LL.”

My Parents Gave Me Bread While My Brother Got $400 Steak. When Bill Came, I Said…

‘We Didn’t Order For You,’ Dad Said, Handing Me Bread While My Brother Enjoyed His $400 Steak.

His Wife Sneered, “Be Grateful You’re Invited.” When The Bill Came, Dad Said: “Let’s Split It Fairly.” I Replied: “Sure — I’ll…”

My name is Carrie Il. Most people just call me Carrie, and I’m 32 years old. The Tuesday the text arrived, Bangkok was rinsed in a late afternoon storm that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be dramatic or just humid.

My phone buzzed. Dad. Family dinner Friday.

Morton’s 7:00 p.m. Your brother’s treating. Dress nice.

Not an invitation, a directive. I typed back, “Sounds good.” Dad replied, “Classy place,” which, in Dad speak, meant don’t embarrass me. I should explain the family scoreboard before we sit down at the table.

I write code and keep my plants alive. Comfortable salary job. Enough savings to sleep at night.

Continue reading…