Chapter 3

On the third day, my parents finally took me to Willowville Apartments.

Before we went inside, Mom gave me a warning. "Don't go into Carter's room. His things are expensive. If you break anything, it'll be difficult to replace."

There was one compartment in the shoe cabinet for Dad and another for Mom.

Carter occupied two entire shelves. Sneakers, dress shoes, and athletic shoes filled the space. At the very bottom sat a pair of green plastic slippers.

Mom took them out and handed them to me. "These are for guests. They'll have to do for now."

They were too small. My heels hung over the back, touching the floor.

The floor cushions in the living room hadn't been put away yet. There were soda stains and greasy pizza marks on them.

Mom handed me a cleaning cloth. "Since you're here, wipe these down. Carter has sensitive skin. We can't risk attracting bugs."

I crouched down and wiped the mat. They were thick and soft.

In Scott's Creek, the roof of the little side room leaked cold air in winter. Grandpa had built my bed using an old wooden door laid across a pair of supports.

Whenever I turned over, the boards creaked. I didn't want to disturb Grandpa, so I'd learned to lie perfectly still even in my sleep.

A weekly meal plan for Carter was stuck to the refrigerator.

Monday: Salmon rice bowl.

Wednesday: Baked mac and cheese.

Friday: Honey garlic ribs.

Beside it were two more reminders: Extra milk after swimming. Go easy on sweets before coding class.

I wanted a glass of water.

Mom took a paper cup out of the cabinet. "We haven't bought you a proper cup yet. Just use this for now."

Meanwhile, Carter had an entire row of cups, each one with his name on it.

That afternoon, I went into the kitchen to throw away the cleaning cloth.

The jar of the figs was lying in the trash. It hadn't even been opened. The handwritten note Grandpa had attached was soaked with soup. It read, "For Tessa. Just a little chili."

I picked up the jar and wiped it clean.

Mom walked into the kitchen, and her expression changed. "Maybe Carter thought it had gone bad."

"Can't he read?"

She was at a loss for words. It took her a moment to respond. "Well, you can just take it back, then. People in South City prefer fresh food."

I put the jar back in my backpack.

That evening, Dad booked a private room at a hotel. Carter had won silver in a district-level piano competition, and Dad had invited several suppliers to celebrate.

During dinner, he raised his glass. "My boy isn't exactly a genius, but he works hard. We'll send him overseas one day so he can see the world."

Someone asked, "Mr. Hayes, is Carter your only son?"

Dad smiled as naturally as ever. "He's the only one. And he's already more than enough to keep me busy."

I sat at the farthest corner of the table. Whenever the servers brought out another dish, they had to ask me to move my chair.

Not one person asked who I was.

Carter ran over and put a piece of green bell pepper he didn't want into my bowl. "Hey, bro. Dad said you're from our hometown and came to help at the shop. Are you going to keep helping us?"

He wasn't being malicious. He was simply repeating what he'd been told, believing it to be true.

I ate the piece of bell pepper, its bitterness lingering in my mouth for a long time.

When we got home, Mom told me to sleep on the living room sofa. "The stockroom is damp. You'll be more comfortable here."

In the middle of the night, Carter called out that he was cold.

Mom came out to adjust the air conditioner. As she passed me, she said, "Wrap yourself up in the blanket so you don't catch a cold. Carter has his next piano exam next week."

I closed my eyes and said nothing.

Later, I heard my parents talking on the balcony.

"He barely said a word today," Mom said.

Dad replied, "We let him into the house. What more does he want?"

"I told you he wouldn't leave. He's waited so many years to be part of this family. Now that he's finally here, he won't want to give it up."

As I stared at the ceiling, the last little bit of warmth left inside me slowly faded away.