Chapter 2

Four towels hung on the wall. The gray one belonged to Dad, and the beige one belonged to Mom.

The dark blue towel belonged to Samuel, while the pink one belonged to Isabelle.

There wasn't one for me.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the four towels.

Eventually, I turned toward the bathroom door and reached for the knob. I was about to ask Mom which one I was supposed to use when I heard their hushed voices from the living room.

"Izzie, just be good, okay? She'll only be staying for a few days. Once we're back from the trip, we'll send her back to your grandparents' place."

My hand froze on the doorknob.

The conversation continued.

"I'm not staying with her. I don't want to." Isabelle's voice came muffled through the door. "She smells weird, and all her stuff looks so cheap."

"It'll only be for one night," Mom whispered, trying to soothe her. "We're leaving tomorrow anyway."

"Then why can't she sleep in the living room?" Samuel's voice joined in.

"Listen, I won't let her sleep in my room either," he continued. "I've got study materials all over my desk. What if she messes everything up?"

"She won't go through your things," Mom said.

"How do you know that?" Samuel scoffed. "She grew up in the countryside. Who knows what kind of bad habits she might have picked up?"

"Exactly," Isabelle chimed in. "I already feel uncomfortable with her here. Things were so much better when it was just the four of us."

Dad sighed.

"She came back so suddenly, and it just happened to be right before our trip. But she's already here. We should at least let her stay a few days before sending her back."

I'd heard those words countless times before.

When I was little, I once asked Mom why Samuel and Isabelle could live with her and Dad while I couldn't.

"Things are a little difficult at home," she told me. "Your grandparents can take care of you, too."

I asked Dad the same thing once—why Samuel could transfer to a school in the city while I couldn't.

"Because we drew lots, and Samuel's name came up."

I was three years old then, and Isabelle hadn't been born yet.

Mom and Dad were leaving for the city to make a living, and they couldn't take both children with them. So they decided to draw lots.

Whoever's name they drew would go with them to the city.

Dad drew Samuel's name. And just like that, Samuel went with them while I stayed in the countryside with my grandparents.

For years afterward, I kept thinking that if Dad had drawn my name that day, everything would've been different.

If I'd been the one they'd taken with them, would I have had a room of my own? Would Mom have checked my homework every night? Would Dad have picked me up from school?

I even secretly resented that little slip of paper for keeping me apart from my parents.

But now, I finally understood.

It had never mattered whose name they drew. What mattered was who they wanted to take with them.

In the living room, Mom was still trying to reason with Isabelle.

"We'll talk about Natalie after we get back from the trip," she said. "She grew up with your grandparents, so there are a lot of things no one ever taught her. Just don't hold those things against her."

No one taught me, so that was why I was dirty, unsophisticated, and didn't know how to behave. But no one had ever stopped to ask why no one had taught me in the first place.

I didn't want to hear another word, so I pushed the bathroom door open.

"Which towel am I supposed to use?"

The entire room fell silent.

Their expressions changed, as though I'd just walked in on something I wasn't supposed to hear.

Mom was the first to recover.

She quickly straightened and said, "Nat, you—"

"Which towel am I supposed to use?" I cut her off.

Mom's face paled.

"Nat, don't read too much into it," Dad said with a frown.

"I'm not," I replied. "So which towel should I use?"

Samuel clicked his tongue impatiently, while Isabelle started inspecting her dress.

Mom stared at me for a moment before walking toward the bathroom.

"I'll get you a new one," she finally said with a sigh. "There are still some new towels in the cupboard."

A disposable toothbrush, a pair of disposable slippers, a brand-new towel—everything they kept for me in this house was new because I was only ever temporary.

Mom rummaged through the storage cabinet and pulled out a white towel. When she handed it to me, she looked exhausted, as though I were the one being unreasonable.

"Nat, that's really not what I meant. We were just worried you wouldn't be comfortable."

I lowered my eyes, pretending not to notice the look on her face.

"I know."

I took the towel and went back into the bathroom.

As the hot water poured over me, I looked down at my palms.