The Wrong Name on the Card

The gift mix-up happened at two thirty in the afternoon.

The five of us had just come home from a celebratory lunch: Mom, Dad, my older sister Nora, my adopted brother Logan, and me.

Lunch had been wonderful. My parents kept praising my work, Nora raised a glass to me, and even Logan told me how impressive I was. For once, I felt warm all the way through.

We'd barely settled into the living room when Mom emerged from her bedroom carrying three wrapped boxes.

The first went to Nora: the latest designer watch.

I glanced at it, then went back to peeling a tangerine.

The second was for Logan.

Ten years earlier, one of Dad's business associates had suffered a family tragedy, leaving his son with no one to care for him. Dad had brought the boy home.

"Asher, Logan's your little brother now," he'd told me. "Look after him."

That had been ten years ago. I'd long since gotten used to it.

Mom handed Logan a pair of limited-edition designer sneakers. They were worth more than ten times what she'd spent on Nora's watch.

My hands stilled on the tangerine. Without meaning to, I looked at Logan.

Logan didn't look surprised. As he accepted the shoes, he flicked a casual glance my way.

Almost as if he were saying, "See that?"

Then Mom handed me the last box.

Same wrapping. Same size.

I took it with a smile.

A beautifully handwritten card slipped out from beneath the lid.

My heart lifted as I unfolded it.

"To my handsome, precious son Logan. You'll always be the heart of our family."

My smile went rigid.

All five of us were in the living room. Every single person had seen the card.

Mom's face drained of color.

She rushed toward me and reached for it, but I pulled my hand away and read it aloud, clearly, every word.

"To my handsome, precious son Logan. You'll always be the heart of our family."

I looked up at her.

"Mom. Logan's your precious son?"

She gave me a strained smile and tried to take my hand.

"You both are, sweetheart. I just put the wrong card in the box."

Dad hurried to smooth things over. "Asher, it must've been a mistake. Don't read too much into it."

I said nothing. I just opened the box.

Inside was an ordinary scarf from a discount department-store brand. The kind you could buy two of for thirty-five dollars during a sale.

The living room fell silent except for the television.

I looked at Nora. She lowered her eyes and pretended not to notice.

Then I looked at Logan. He was busy admiring his new sneakers, the faintest smile still playing on his lips.

My eyes burned. I crushed the card in my fist.

"Mom," I asked again, "wasn't today supposed to be a celebration for me?"

"Of course. I just thought I'd get your brother and sister a little something while I was at it."