A Family of Five, and I Rank Sixth

"Jane, how many days are you planning to stay this time?" asked my dad, Michael Brown.

He kept his eyes trained on his phone screen, his thumb rapidly scrolling through the smart lock's administrative application.

Without waiting for my response, he continued, "The guest token caps out at a maximum of seven days. I'll authorize a one-week clearance for you now. Make sure you track the expiration date and remind me to renew it."

My mom, Sandy Brown, grabbed my wrist and forcefully pressed my finger onto the biometric sensor. She cycled through three different fingers on my right hand, but the machine cut through the silence with a sequence of error chimes.

Her features tightened with impatience. "Why are you the only one having trouble? Shel and Mau registered on the first try."

My younger sister and brother both had elegant names carefully chosen by our parents. Mine was a simple one, picked at random by my illiterate grandmother in the village.

When addressing them, my parents used tender, truncated nicknames. When addressing me, they always used Jane in an indifferent tone.

Sandy switched to my left thumb, but the sensor flashed red yet again. She dropped my hand with a heavy, exasperated sigh. "You always make everything complicated. Figure it out yourself."

I stared down at my palm. Before ten, I had lived with my grandma in the countryside. Her failing health meant the burden of survival fell on my small shoulders.

Outside of school hours, my days were consumed by chores like tending to the garden, eliminating the grass, and managing the livestock.

When she passed away, my parents brought me back to their home in the city. But my role merely shifted from rural laborer to domestic servant.

I became the designated handler for all household chores—washing dishes, scrubbing counters, and mopping floors. My hands were perpetually marinated in detergents.

Perhaps my identifying ridges had been sandpapered down by years of friction, or the thick calluses were shielding my identity from the scanner.

"Stop daydreaming!" Michael barked, growing irritated. "If you can't get it to work, none of us have the spare time to constantly play doorman for you. Don't start complaining later that we lock you out."

I wiped the sweat from my palms with a tissue, then pressed my thumb firmly onto the glass. A soft beep sounded, and the lock responded in its mechanical voice, "Guest registration successful."

Michael put his phone away and headed into the living room. The rest of the family had already begun unboxing the spoils of their vacation.

There were premium teas for Michael's clients, artisanal pastries for Sandy's coworkers, and elaborate ornaments for the relatives.

The contents overflowed across the floor, but not a single item had been bought for me.

"Where did you guys travel to?" I asked with a hoarse voice.

Why was I the only one who hadn't known? But no one bothered to offer an answer.

Shelly leaned against Sandy, giggling as she scrolled through photos on her phone. "Mom, look at this family portrait. It's perfect."

Michael leaned over. "Yeah, it's great. You came up with some really creative poses."

I wasn't featured in a single frame. Yet, without a hint of irony, they called it a family portrait.

Mauro wrinkled his nose, waving his hand through the air before casting a critical look in my direction.

"By the way, Jane, I meant to tell you the second you walked in," he scoffed. "You should go take a shower. You're radiating a distinct odor. Can you seriously not smell yourself? How are you more unhygienic than a guy?"

"Exactly," Sandy chimed in. "Go scrub yourself raw. Don't bring any of those unrefined hygiene habits you picked up from your grandma into my house."

It was the suffocating peak of July. I had waited outside in a stuffy hallway with no air conditioning for over eight hours. My clothing was saturated with sweat; my hair was plastered to the curve of my neck and cheeks from the ambient heat.

I had refused to leave that spot for a minute, terrified that if I walked away, I would miss the window of their return.

Ironically, none of them asked if I was suffering from the heat or if I had eaten. They only complained about my smell.

Without a word, I headed toward the bathroom. That was when the phone in my pocket vibrated with an incoming notification. It was a direct transmission from my university thesis advisor.

Danial Koch: [This classified program has strict conditions. Once you join, you won't be able to contact the outside world. Has your family agreed?]

I typed back: [Thank you for the oversight, Professor. I'll discuss it with them.]

In reality, I had no intention of doing any such thing. The departure of a visitor was a matter that required no one's permission but their own.