Chapter 3

The first time Mom ever took the initiative to buy me clothes was during the winter of my sophomore year of college.

The package was delivered downstairs at my dorm. I carried it back to my room, opened it, and found a gray padded jacket inside. The tags had been cut off, the cuffs were pilling, and the zipper kept catching.

There was a receipt tucked inside the bag. Apparently, it was purchased for 29 dollars on clearance.

Mom texted me.

"It's getting cold, so I bought you a jacket. Stop saying that your family doesn't take care of you."

As I ran my hand over the jacket, my eyes, to my surprise, started to sting.

It wasn't stylish, and it didn't fit right. The sleeves were too short, and the shoulders were a little too tight. Even so, I put it on and stood in front of the mirror for a long time.

"At least she remembers that I get cold," I thought to myself.

I texted back, "Thanks, Mom."

She replied fairly quickly. "Just remember to be grateful."

With that single sentence, the small flicker of warmth that had just flared up inside my chest was quietly snuffed out.

That night, Mikey posted a photo. He was standing in front of a department store mirror, wearing a pair of brand-new sneakers. They were so clean they practically gleamed.

The caption read, "Mom says a man's gotta look sharp when he steps out of the house."

Someone in the comments asked about the price.

"Around 2,000 dollars. I told her they were too expensive, but she actually scolded me and said I need to learn how to treat myself better."

I stared at the words "treat myself better". For the longest time, I didn't move.

So when she scolded him, it was because he was reluctant to spend. And when she scolded me, it was because I had spent an extra dollar.

Not long after, Mikey sent the photo to the family group chat.

"Malcolm, Mom bought you clothes too, right? Put them on and show us."

Michele replied immediately. "Don't embarrass him. His jacket is probably all about embracing the simple, hardworking lifestyle."

Mikey sent a laughing-crying emoji. "You don't hate it because you think it's cheap, right, Malcolm?"

Mom finally chimed in. "He wouldn't. Malcolm grew up with Grandpa. He can handle hardship. He's not spoiled like you."

I stared at the phrase "he can handle hardship", and I suddenly remembered something Grandpa said.

The power had gone out in town during one of the winters. I was hunched over next to the potbelly stove doing my homework, my hands so cold I could barely hold my pencil.

Grandpa tucked my hands against his chest, blowing warm air on them while grumbling, "Who says our Malcolm can handle hardship? It's only because nobody is there to shield you from it."

Back then, I didn't understand. Now, I did.

When Mom said I "could handle hardship", she wasn't praising me. It was just her excuse for giving me nothing.

That night, I wore that 29-dollar jacket and handed out flyers. The wind blew straight up my sleeves.

My phone rang. It was a call from Mom.

"Are you working a part-time job again?"

My fingers were numb from the cold. "It's not interfering with my studies."

"Did I ask you that?" she asked, holding back her temper. "I give you an allowance every month, yet you go out there handing out flyers. How do you think that makes me look? Must you make your college think that I, Agnes Bradbery, can't afford to raise my own son?"

I closed my eyes. "I want to buy Grandpa some knee braces."

The line went silent for a moment. Then, she laughed. It was a cold, humorless laugh.

"You sure know how to make yourself look good. You sell out my reputation to play the victim, then you go back and play the devoted grandson to your grandpa."

My nose started to sting badly.

"That's money I earned myself."

"Yourself?"

Her voice rose higher.

"The food you eat, the dorm you live in, the education you're getting—which one of those isn't being paid for by me? Malcolm, don't think that just because you've been in college for two years, you can start keeping score with your own family."

Phillip's voice came from somewhere nearby, calm and gentle. "Malcolm, your mom is just worried you'll go down the wrong path. Don't carry everything on your shoulders. It's not like your family has abandoned you."

I almost laughed. They didn't care about me, and yet they still wanted to blame me for being too independent.

After the call ended, I looked down at the stack of flyers in my hand. The wind rustled the paper loudly.

They sounded like the little scraps of love I'd spent all these years chasing—thin, weightless, and impossible to hold onto.