Chapter 3

The next morning, Mom brought two bowls of ravioli in brodo to the table.

Claire’s ravioli was garnished with fragrant herbs, with a faintly milky broth made from bone stock.

Mine was nothing but clear broth, and some of the ravioli were still undercooked.

“Mom, why are Claire’s and Sophia’s ravioli different?” Claire stirred the ravioli in her bowl with her spoon, asking as though she didn’t already know the answer.

“You’re still growing. You need more nourishment. Bone broth gives you calcium.” Mom pushed a small dish of grated parmesan toward her. “Eat more.”

“But isn’t Sophia still growing too?”

Mom glanced at me.

There was something unreadable in her eyes, but her expression was cold.

“She doesn’t need it.”

I lowered my head and ate my ravioli. The half-cooked wrappers were tough as I chewed.

The bitterness in my heart was about to spill from my throat.

“Mom, I need to go to the mall this afternoon to buy a dress for my public speaking competition,” Claire said. “Will you come with me?”

“Sure. I could do some window shopping too.”

“I want to go too,” I said.

Mom turned to me, her brows knitting together again.

“What are you going for? Claire’s buying a dress for her competition. Why do you need to tag along?”

“I… I want to buy a pair of shoes.”

The sneakers on my feet were nearly two years old. The soles were so worn down I could see my socks through them.

“Aren’t those shoes still wearable?”

“The soles are almost completely worn through…”

“Then have Claire give you a pair she doesn’t wear. She has so many shoes, and plenty of them are practically new.”

Claire laughed.

“Take the white pair in the shoe cabinet. I don't like them anyway.”

I said nothing more.

Last month, I had a fever of 102.2°F for three days.

Mom said some fever medicine would be enough for me.

When I told her I felt dizzy, she said I was being too delicate. When Claire sneezed twice, however, Mom instantly panicked and insisted on taking her to the hospital for a checkup. Before leaving, she even told me, “It’s all because of you. You passed it to Claire.”

I clenched my fists, tears welling up in my eyes.

Later, I went to the community clinic by myself and got two IV drips.

The nurse scolded me. “What were you thinking, little one? If you'd come any later, your life could've been in danger!”

I lowered my head and muttered to myself.

“It’s okay.

“Mom was the one who picked up my life in the first place.

“Even if I lost it, no one would be sad for me anyway, would they?”

My train of thought came to a sudden halt when I remembered that conversation.

Almost on impulse, I walked into the bathroom.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I saw a face that resembled nearly eighty percent of Mom and Dad.

And suddenly, I made a decision.

I saved the strands of hair Mom had brushed from her head that morning.

I opened the map on my phone and searched for “DNA testing.”

The nearest one was across from the city hospital, a half-hour bus ride away.

When the bus arrived, I boarded and took a window seat.

By the time I got off, my palms were drenched in sweat.

The testing center was on the fourth floor of an old office building. When the elevator doors opened, I was facing a glass door with the words [Genetic Testing Laboratory].

The receptionist greeted me and placed the hair in a sealed bag.

“Come back in five working days to collect the results.”

By the time I returned to the neighborhood, it was nearly dark.

“Where were you? You’re back so late.”

“I went out for a walk.”

The dining table was a mess, with nothing left but cold leftovers.

“Go make yourself some instant noodles. That’s what you get for coming home so late.”

Mom looked up and glanced at me. “Oh, right. Claire is taking part in the city’s public speaking competition next week. Could you go over her speech one more time? Your writing is pretty good, isn’t it? At least you can make yourself useful.”

I nodded noncommittally.

I walked into my room on an empty stomach and sat down at my desk.

The light from the computer screen shone on my face as I edited her speech.

The title was [The Person I Love Most.]

Claire had written about Mom.

I revised the opening and added a detail of when she was little and fell ill, her mother stayed up all night by her bedside.

I made that detail up, because I had never seen it happen.

My right eye began to ache again. I rubbed it and continued editing.

Five working days.

Today was Saturday. The results would be ready next Friday.

From the living room, Claire called out, “Mom, I want some yogurt.”

“There’s some in the fridge. Have Sophia get it for you.”

“Sophia! Yogurt!”

I walked out of my room and took the yogurt from the fridge.

When I handed it to Claire, she took it and glanced at me.

“Why are your eyes red?”

“They’re not.”

“Don’t cry in front of me. It’s annoying to look at.”

I wasn't crying.

I was just wondering what that piece of paper next Friday would tell me.