The Collar Told the Truth
My mom always said, "I've never played favorites.
"You and your brother mean exactly the same to me."
She said it so often I almost believed it.
Growing up, anything my brother had, I had too.
If he got a new pair of sneakers, so did I.
If he signed up for coding classes, I was enrolled in the same ones.
Even this year, when we came home for the holidays, my mom smiled as she handed each of us a neatly-packaged designer shopping bag.
"I picked these out for you two at the store. One for each of you, exactly the same.
"These outdoor brands are expensive, you know. A single jacket costs thousands. I'd never buy one for myself, but I don't mind splurging on you two."
I took the jacket. It was well-cut, structured, and looked high-quality. A small warmth stirred in my chest.
However, when I tried it on, the collar felt oddly irritating against my skin.
Frowning, I pulled back the lining to check.
There was a ring of yellowed sweat stains around the label, and tiny flakes of dandruff were caught in the Velcro.
A faint musty smell lingered on the cloth, mixed with the stale odor of cheap tobacco. It was sour and impossible to ignore.