Chapter 3

The first time my dad bought me clothes was during winter of my sophomore year, and he had it delivered to the lobby of my dormitory.

I hugged the parcel back to my room and unwrapped the parcel containing a gray puffer jacket.

The tag was cut off, the cuffs were piling, and the zipper was stuck, while there was a receipt stuffed into one of the pockets that read: Warehouse clearance, $89.

My dad texted me: [It’s getting cold. Bought you a jacket.]

[Don’t say that your family doesn’t care about you.]

I caressed the puffer jacket, with tears welling up in my eyes.

It didn't look good, nor did it fit me.

The sleeves were too short, and it was too narrow at the shoulders.

But I still wore it and stood in front of the mirror for a long time, thinking that at least he remembered I might feel cold.

I texted him back: [Thanks, Dad.]

His reply came quickly. [Good that you’re grateful.]

His words erased all the warmth I had felt in my heart at that time.

At night, Veronica shared a photo on social media.

She stood before a mirror in a shopping mall, wearing a white down jacket. It had a cinched waist with a fluffy and soft fur collar.

The caption read: [Dad said that girls must keep warm and look pretty at the same time during winter.]

Someone asked her for the price in the comments.

Her reply was: [About $600. I said it was too expensive, and my dad even scolded me for not treating myself better.]

I stared at the last part of the sentence and didn’t move for a long time.

He had scolded her for being reluctant to spend while he scolded me for spending $1.50 more.

A while later, Veronica sent that photo to the family group chat.

“Jessica, Dad bought you a jacket too, right? Wear it and take a photo for us to see.”

Vince’s reply came in an instant: [Don’t put her on the spot. I’m sure her jacket is cheap and plain.]

Veronica sent the emoji depicting tears of joy.

My dad texted: [You don’t find it cheap, do you, Jessica?]

[She wouldn’t.]

[Jessica has lived with Grandma since she was young and can take hardships, unlike you, you delicate princess.]

I looked at the text and suddenly recalled something Grandma once said.

During winter that year, there was a power outage in town.

I crouched next to the coal-fired stove to complete my homework, my hands so cold that I could hardly hold my pen.

Grandma wrapped my hands in her embrace, blowing hot air at it while grumbling, “Who said that our Jessica darling can take hardships? That’s only because no one is there to take on the hardships for you.”

I didn’t quite understand what she meant back then.

Now, I finally understood.

When my dad said I could take hardships, he wasn’t praising me.

Instead, it was his excuse for not giving me things.

That night, I wore that jacket that cost $89 to give out flyers, and wind seeped in through the sleeves.

My phone rang—it was my dad calling.

“Working part-time again?”

My fingers were so numb from the cold.

“It’s not affecting my studies.”

“Am I asking you that?”

He went on with anger he was trying to control, “I give you an allowance every month, yet you’re out distributing flyers. What will others think of me?

“Must you make your school think that I, Jake Larson, can’t afford to raise my daughter?”

I shut my eyes.

“I want to buy a pair of knee guards for Grandma.”

It went silent on the other end of the line.

He then gave a very cold chuckle.

“You’re ever so sensible, aren’t you? Acting pitiful at my expense, and then going back to coax your grandmother into saying you’re filial.”

Tears welled up in my eyes.

“That’s money I earned by myself.”

“By yourself?” He raised his voice.

“The food you eat, the dormitory you stay in, the course you study… I’m the one who provides you with all these things!

“Jessica, you’re learning to be calculative with your family when you’ve been away at college for only two years.”

Aunt Jensen’s voice sounded from his side, soft and gentle as usual.

“Jessica, your dad is just worried you’ll go astray. A girl who’s too headstrong may find it hard to find someone to love you in the future.”

I felt a sudden urge to laugh.

They didn’t love me.

Yet, they were blaming me for being too headstrong.

After hanging up, I looked down at the flyers in my hand, which were rustling in the wind, just like the meagre bit of fatherly love I’d been pursuing over the years—thin, flimsy, and impossible to grasp.