I Cut Ties With a Broken Home

At 6:00 pm, the restaurant manager came into the kitchen looking for me, saying there was an issue with the decorations in one of the private dining rooms and that the guests were demanding that the person responsible apologize.

I took off my dishwashing gloves and apron, then scrubbed at the grease splattered across the front of my shirt. But instead of it coming off, it only smeared further.

Pressing my lips together, I followed the manager to the private room Mom had booked. Through the closed door, I could hear her comforting my stepsister, Alesha Callen.

"Don't be upset, Ali. The staff here are useless. They can't even blow up a balloon properly. Didn't you want the newest releases from that big tech brand? As soon as we're done here, we'll buy them. Laptop, phone, tablet—we'll get the highest specs for all of them."

I lowered my eyes to my faded canvas sneakers, bleached white from too many washes. My living expenses for the next month were still an issue, and if I lost this part-time job, I'd be stuck eating plain bread for another month.

Pushing the door open, I lowered my head and said apologetically, "I'm very sorry. This was my oversight."

"Oh, spare me!" Alesha pouted. "The balloon arch was supposed to look perfect, but the ones at the very top are deflated. It looks terrible, and the pictures I took all turned out awful!"

Mom immediately soothed her.

"Alright, we'll have them redo it. We'll get them to replace all of them."

I climbed the ladder, stretching my arm to take down the deflated balloons.

A middle-aged lady sitting next to Mom took the opportunity to lecture her own child.

"See that? You need to be more like Alesha. If your grades aren't good enough, you'll end up working for other people in the future, just like this waitress. And that's all you'll ever amount to."

Mom proudly wrapped an arm around Alesha.

"My Ali is both smart and obedient. She even outdid herself on the College Entrance Exam, scoring over ten points higher than on her mock exams."

Pretending not to hear any of it, I forced all the turbulent emotions in my chest into a single breath and blew it into the balloon.

I couldn't even remember the last time Mom had complimented me. As far as I could remember, she and Dad had always been fighting—slamming doors and flinging dishes.

Whenever she got angry, she'd take it out on me. She'd call me an eyesore, a jinx, and a burden.

When I got into one of the state's top high schools based on my good grades, I secretly used Grandma's phone to text her.

She replied, "I'm living a very happy life right now. Please don't contact me again."

I wanted to tell her that my grades were far better than Alesha's. I wanted to tell her that I was very obedient, too, and that I wouldn't cause her any trouble. I wanted to tell her that I didn't want to interrupt her new life. I just… missed her.

But she didn't know any of that. Or maybe, she simply didn't want to.

After much effort, I finally finished replacing the balloons. Just as I stepped out of the private room, a guest from the neighboring room called out to me.

"Hey, you over there. Come help cut the cake and serve it."

Walking inside, I saw Dad holding his young son, Robby, while someone took pictures. When he noticed I'd accidentally stepped into the frame, he frowned.

"Don't you have any awareness? Are all the servers in this restaurant as clueless as you?"

I quickly retreated into a corner.

Dad picked up a birthday crown shaped like an action figure from the side.

"Look, Robby, it's your favorite action figure. Daddy had it made especially for you. Do you like it?"

The little boy ran around the room with the transforming action figure, shouting about how he was going to beat up all the monsters.

Dad laughed as he chased after him, one hand shielding him from bumping into the table corners while the other gently wiped the sweat from his forehead with a tissue.

The tender, attentive expression stunned me. For a second, I wondered if I'd mistaken him for someone else.

When I was five years old, Dad had forgotten that I was allergic to mangoes. I accidentally ate some and ended up hospitalized for a week.

When I was eight years old, he'd carelessly mixed up the date of my parent-teacher conference, and I ended up getting mocked by my classmates for being a fatherless child.

A few months ago, Grandma had passed away after a long illness. By the time I came home from boarding school, the funeral was already over.

A neighbor told me that Dad couldn't remember which high school I attended, nor did he have my homeroom teacher's number, so he'd "forgotten" to inform me.

As it turned out, he wasn't forgetful, nor was he careless. He just hadn't spared even a fraction of his fatherly love for me.

I turned around and gently closed the door to that lively room behind me. The moment the door clicked shut, I lifted my head and met a pair of familiar eyes.

I froze right where I stood.

"What are you doing here?"