Chapter 2

On Saturday, Mom asked me to go home for dinner.

"Stop pretending you're fending for yourself out there," she said. "Come home."

I originally intended to refuse, but the words "come home" hooked into something inside me. Just a little tug, and it still stung.

I took a three-hour train ride home.

When I arrived, Mikey was setting up a phone tripod in the living room. Spread across the coffee table were earphones, colognes, baseball caps, and a row of unopened packages.

When he saw me, his eyes swept over me from head to toe. "You're still wearing that jacket, Malcolm?"

Michele was curled up on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

"What do you know?" she retorted, not even looking up. "That's called vintage."

Mikey burst out laughing. "Vintage enough to be that faded?"

I placed the bag of free-range eggs in the corner. Grandpa had packed them for me that morning. He'd wiped every single egg clean before carefully nestling them into the straw lining the bag.

"Take these to your mom and the others," he'd said. "You can't buy eggs that taste like these in the city."

Just then, Phillip came out of the kitchen and glanced at the bag.

"Oh, you brought eggs again? We really don't have room for them here anymore."

My fingers twitched slightly.

Suddenly, I felt sorry for the bag of eggs. Just like me, they'd been squeezed into a home that didn't welcome them.

At the dinner table, Mom's brother, Uncle Trevor, asked, "Malcolm, do you have enough money at school? You're a young man. Don't scrimp too much. Eat when and what you need to."

Just as I was about to say I had enough, Mom set down her fork.

"He's not scrimping. He doesn't even know how to spend money responsibly."

She pulled out her phone and opened the expense sheet I'd submitted. "Let me show you all how much money kids can burn through these days."

Mikey's eyes lit up. He quietly turned his phone camera toward me.

I noticed it, but I didn't have time to stop him before Mom started reading.

"October 3. 3 dollars for coffee.

"October 7. 9 dollars for printing study materials.

"October 12. 6 dollars and 50 cents for stomach medication.

"October 15. 6 dollars and 90 cents for toilet paper. The quantity seems excessive."

When the last four words landed, the whole table fell silent.

Uncle Trevor's expression changed as his fork froze midair.

I sat there, my face burning as if someone had shoved it into boiling water.

Mom didn't even notice something was off. Or rather, she simply didn't think there was anything wrong with what she was doing.

She frowned at me. "I just don't get it. The school cafeteria has real, decent food, so how did you manage to end up with gastritis? Have you been eating garbage all day?"

Mikey snorted. "Mom, don't ask him about every little thing. You'll embarrass him."

"He has the nerve to put it on an expense report, so why would he be scared of someone reading it out loud?" Michele chimed in.

I looked at Mom. My voice was barely audible. "Mom, do I really need to justify buying toilet paper, too?"

She froze for a second, and her face darkened instantly. "Malcolm Judd, don't blow things out of proportion in front of our relatives. I've got a leash on you because I'm afraid you'll pick up bad habits.

"I'm not worried about your brother. He grew up by my side, so I know he has self-control. You're different. You grew up in that small town, and there are many things no one ever taught you. I have no choice but to keep a stricter eye on you."

My chest felt as though something heavy had slammed into it.

She'd been absent from my life for more than a decade. And now she was using those same missing years as proof that I was somehow inferior to them.

Uncle Trevor couldn't help but speak up. "Agnes, it wasn't his fault that he didn't grow up with you."

Feeling embarrassed, Mom set her spoon down on the table with a clatter. "I only said one thing to him, and suddenly you all think I'm abusing him. Fine. I won't care anymore. He can run wild out there and pick up whatever bad habits he wants."

I didn't say another word.

After dinner, Michele said she wanted to buy her boyfriend a birthday present. Mom immediately transferred her 1,500 dollars.

"You don't want people thinking you're cheap when you're in a relationship."

At the same time, Mikey grabbed onto her arm and started whining. "Mom, I don't have enough lenses for my camera."

"Go ahead and buy one," Mom said with a chuckle as she patted his hand. "It's good for a boy to have a hobby rather than sitting around doing nothing all day."

I stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at my phone and the rejected request. My 50-dollar request for textbooks had been refused.

The attached memo read, "Not urgent. We'll discuss it again next month."

In that moment, I didn't feel hurt. I just understood, with absolute clarity, that she wasn't afraid of me spending money. She was just afraid I'd become like my siblings—someone who believed I deserved to be loved, as though I had every right to it.