Clearance Rack Daughter

The day I got the callback for my second interview, my mother, Sara Bingley, came home with two bags. "You're about to start your job for real, and that means dressing professionally. I bought you girls a suit each, one for each of you, fair and square." Molly Pitcher happily took her bag. Inside was a fitted, deep navy suit, sharp and clearly not cheap. What landed in my hands was an ill-fitting black suit pulled from the clearance rack, so oversized the sleeves swallowed the backs of my hands. Mom smiled and touched my cheek. "Cathy, you'll still grow. I bought it big on purpose. Give it two years, and it'll fit just right. I went to I don't know how many malls just to track down that black suit." She did love me, in her way. She knew my job required a black suit, and she really had gone to several malls to find one. But she'd forgotten I was already twenty-three. No amount of growing was going to fill out a suit that oversized and that cheaply made. Both daughters were her own flesh and blood, but Molly was plainly the one she doted on. The love she gave me came measured out in careful portions. The love she gave Molly overflowed. If that was how it was going to be, then from today on, I was done being the extra one in this family. Chapter 1 I carried that oversized, ill-fitting black suit back to my room. Mom watched me go, her face full of quiet satisfaction. "You've always been the sensible one, giving way to your sister since you were little. You're not like her. She's always out running around all day with her head in the clouds." Whatever she said, the smile never left her face, and it was plainly doting. I didn't look back. My steps only faltered for a moment. Mom's voice chased after me. "Oh, and I never asked. How did the interview go today? Is a big company like that hard to get into?" "It was fine." I pushed the door open and left those two words behind in the hallway. I hung up the suit and sat down at my desk, thinking back to the satisfied smile on Charlie Gilbert's face. Mr. Gilbert, the department head, had told me privately that he had a merit-admission spot open. If I could land it, I'd go straight into his design department as an intern and skip the usual six-month rotation. I'd been thrilled just to make it to the second round of interviews. But after seeing that oversized, clearance-rack suit that clearly wasn't made for me, I'd lost the urge to share the good news with my mother. There were seven days left until Wednesday's second interview. I told her I needed to prepare and asked her not to bother me for the next few days. She said happily, "Really? All right, take your time and get ready. I promise I won't bother you." I pulled out all my notes from my design classes and wrote out the project directions Mr. Gilbert had mentioned in passing during the interview, sketching and revising until I'd filled several pages with ideas. For the following week, I barely left my room. The day Molly left with her suitcase, I heard Mom outside fussing over her endlessly. "Pack another jacket. Text me when you get there. Do you have enough money?" I worked myself ragged for a week and finally had a rough draft of the design ready. I collapsed into bed and slept over ten hours straight before I felt human again. When I woke up, Mom was sitting at my computer. The screen was lit up. She had her reading glasses on, staring intently at something. I walked over and realized she was watching a drama. The male and female leads on screen were pouring their hearts out to each other, and Mom dabbed at her eyes as she watched. She heard my footsteps, took off her glasses, and rubbed her eyes. "My tablet died. I'm just watching a bit on your computer." Chapter 2 I nodded. "Go ahead and watch. Just don't touch anything else. It's a hassle if something gets lost." When I came back from dinner, Mom suddenly asked me, "How are the benefits at that company you interviewed with? Do you think Molly could get in?" I thought back over my sister's grades. "The benefits are decent, but Molly's GPA isn't high enough, and she's never gotten a scholarship. She wouldn't get in there." Mom pressed on. "So what was that merit-admission spot you mentioned before? Tell me about it." I rubbed my forehead. "Mom, merit admission depends on having a polished design portfolio. Molly can't even read a basic design draft. There's no way she'd get in on merit. Don't even think about it." Mom's brows drew together. She said, in the tone of someone imparting wisdom, "You're always putting your sister down. She's smart and thoughtful, so much better than you in ways you don't even realize." With that, she picked up her teacup and stormed off. The day before my second interview, I was about to go wash up when I saw Mom walk in carrying a glass of water. I figured she wanted to watch her drama again, so I didn't think much of it and headed to the bathroom with my clothes. I'd barely started washing up when I heard a crash. I wrapped a towel around myself and ran back to my room. Mom was on the floor, groaning, surrounded by broken glass. My computer was soaked, the screen gone black. I rushed her to the hospital. After the exam, it turned out to be nothing serious. She'd just twisted her ankle. But my computer, and my design draft, would have to start from scratch. Mom felt terrible about it. She said through tears, "Cathy, Mom's sorry. I'll get someone to fix your computer tomorrow." I couldn't talk her out of it, so I left the computer in her room for her to take in the next day. That left me to wing the second interview on my own. Three days later, the acceptance list came out. My fingers trembled a little as I pulled up the company website and scrolled down the list. Under "Design Department Special-Admission Intern," I saw my sister's name: Molly Pitcher. I thought I'd misread it. I refreshed the page. It was still her name. I called her. She picked up after two rings, background noise loud enough that it sounded like she was at a train station. "Mom said she pulled some strings and got me straight into an internship under Mr. Gilbert. I skip the whole six-month rotation! You're in the regular batch, right? Congrats!" I stood on the balcony gripping my phone, the wind snapping at the shirts hanging out to dry. "What strings did Mom pull?" "Ugh, I'm not really sure. Mom said it's all sorted, told me to just relax and have fun. I go straight to work when I get back." I hung up and dialed Mr. Gilbert's number. He told me, "Your mother came to see me the day before yesterday with your sister's diploma and a design draft. The girl's work was genuinely impressive. I thought she showed real talent, so I made an exception and admitted her on merit." I stood there gripping the phone, saying nothing, my nails digging into my palm with a dull, aching pain. Mr. Gilbert added, "Your mother also mentioned you two are both studying design, so it'd be good for you to look out for each other at the same company." I couldn't make out anything else he said after that. Tears blurred my vision, and my chest ached like something had been torn out of it. It hit me all at once. The day Mom used my computer to watch her drama, she must have copied my design draft off it. And she'd deliberately spilled water on my computer afterward, afraid I'd take the draft to Mr. Gilbert myself and cost Molly her spot. Chapter 3 Mom had even taken my broken computer with her, worried I'd have it fixed. What a devoted mother, going to such lengths. I went to Mom's room. She was on the phone with Molly, the wrinkles on her face folded into a delighted grin. "You'll be home tonight. Should Mom come pick you up? Don't worry, Mom's got everything arranged. Just go straight to work once you're back." She said it so matter-of-factly. I stood in the doorway and asked her point-blank, "Mom, why did the merit-admission spot go to Molly?" Mom set down her phone and said, smiling, "Your sister's always had a weak constitution. She can't handle hardship the way you can. You gave the spot to her, and now the two of you are at the same company where you can look out for each other. Isn't that nice?" "That's fraud," I said, looking at her. "Once the company finds out she doesn't know the first thing about the job, they'll fire her on the spot." Mom's brows knit together at once. She hung up the phone. "Don't talk about your sister like that. She's lucky to have a capable sister like you. Besides, Molly only took the merit spot. Didn't you get in too? If there'd only been one spot, Mom would have sided with you, of course." I looked her straight in the eye. "I spent an entire week on that design draft. Every bit of it was my work. What gives you the right to hand my work over to pave the way for her?" Mom's expression darkened. "You're the older sister. Looking after your sister is your duty. You two are flesh and blood. So what if you lose out a little? Cathy, you can't be this selfish." I stared at her, unable to believe what I was hearing. "You're calling me selfish? Am I the one who stole someone else's work? Am I the one who knows nothing and still wants into a good company?" Mom waved a dismissive hand. "That's enough. There's no point saying more. The list's already been posted. I know these past few days have been hard on you. I'll cook something you like tonight and get some good food into you." That night, Mom made honey-glazed shrimp. A full plate of it, glistening red, the shrimp backs scored in a decorative cut, buried under a thick layer of minced garlic and scallion. She dropped one into my bowl. "Eat up. It's high in protein, good for you." She'd forgotten I was allergic to shrimp. I ate it anyway. The meat was tender, rich with garlic, the juices bursting between my teeth with every bite. Mom watched me finish it and broke into a satisfied smile. "That's more like it. I knew you were the sensible one." The last time the three of us had gone out to eat, she'd remembered exactly that Molly was allergic to cilantro, and reminded the waiter twice not to put any in the food. I'd told her countless times that I was allergic to shrimp, and she'd never once remembered. I swallowed an allergy pill, stripped off my jacket, and went to shower; the water turned up as hot as it would go, running from my head to my feet. The scalding water poured over me, but it couldn't wash away the cold settled deep in my chest. When I came out of the bathroom, Molly was sitting at my newly repaired computer. Her fingers clattered across the keyboard, and the screen kept flashing "incorrect password" over and over. She heard the bathroom door open and spun around. A flash of panic crossed her face before it hardened right back into indignation. "Why do you even have a password on your computer? I can't get to anything I need." I walked over, toweling my hair. "You need to find something? Like what? "You can't even use Word properly. What would you even need to look up?" Chapter 4 Molly's face flushed red, and she shot to her feet. "What's that supposed to mean? Who are you looking down on? I'm not allowed to learn?" My voice stayed even. "You're not looking for anything. You're checking whether there's anything left here you can still steal. "You skipped every one of your classes. You can't even understand the design draft Mr. Gilbert asked for. You can't tell Photoshop from CorelDRAW. "You stole my work and handed it in, and now you're worried I kept a copy, so you want to wipe it clean. Isn't that it?" She glared at me, then suddenly grabbed the computer off the desk and hurled it to the floor. The screen shattered with a crack, cracks spreading out like a spiderweb, the keyboard popping loose and skidding into the corner. A shard flew up and nicked the top of my foot. A thin line of blood welled up. By the time Mom rushed in, Molly was already crouched on the floor, hands over her face, her cries drawn out and shrill. "Mom! She's been guarding against me! She's scared I'll outdo her in the design department, so she made up a story about me stealing from her! She smashed her own computer and blamed me for it!" Mom pulled Molly into her arms and patted her back, cooing at her. "Don't cry, don't cry. Mom's here." Then she lifted her head and looked at me, her gaze cold as ice. "Why would you falsely accuse your sister? So your computer broke. Fine, it broke. Why pin it on Molly? "What kind of sister are you? You don't have the first idea how to look after your own family. I am truly disappointed in you." I watched them. Molly had her face buried in Mom's shoulder, her shoulders still jerking, but the sound had already dropped out of her crying, leaving nothing but a performance of sniffling. Mom's hand kept stroking her back, gentle as anything. Then her voice rose sharply, and she gave me an order outright. "From now on, whenever there's work from the design department, you'll stay up all night at home and do it for Molly. "She's brand new to the company and doesn't know a thing. If you, her own sister, won't help her, who will? If you don't agree, you're not welcome in this house." Molly lifted half her face from Mom's shoulder to look at me, a tear caught at the corner of her eye, refusing to fall, the corner of her mouth curling up just slightly. I stood there, the cut on my foot still oozing blood. "Fine," I said. The tight lines on Mom's face relaxed at once. She let go of Molly, patted my arm, and turned back into that mother who supposedly loved us both the same. "All right, all right, don't go saying I play favorites. Mom loves you both girls exactly the same. Go get some rest. "Starting tomorrow, you're teaching your sister how to read these designs. She's a smart girl. She'll pick it up in no time." I nodded and watched them walk out. Once I'd locked the door, I leaned back against it and closed my eyes for a moment. Then I opened my phone and pulled up that special-recruitment offer. Dakota City. Eleven hundred miles away. An invitation sent personally by the design director there, saying she'd seen my graduation portfolio, found the style distinctive, and wanted me to come work for her. I'd thought it was too far from home before and hadn't been eager to go. Now, looking at the words on the screen, something in me went quiet and still. I called their HR line. Someone picked up right away. "I'd like to accept the special-recruitment offer," I said. "When can I start?" A pleased voice came through the phone. "Wonderful, Ms. Pitcher! Our director has been waiting for your reply! Would Monday work for you to come in? Flights and lodging are all covered by the company." I said Monday worked. Then I sent a message to HR in Mr. Gilbert's department, thanking them for the offer but letting them know I'd found a better fit and wouldn't be coming. Chapter 5 They wrote back with a simple "okay," and nothing more. I dug my suitcase out from the back of the closet. It was a small one, its wheels a little stiff, rattling every time I pulled it along. I started packing clothes: short sleeves for summer, a light jacket for fall, a few textbooks. The computer with the cracked screen was still sitting in the corner where I'd tossed it after bringing it home. I thought about it for a moment, then picked it up and tucked it into the bottom of the suitcase. Once I'd finished packing, I opened my phone to buy a plane ticket from home to Dakota. I picked out a flight and tapped to pay. Payment failed. Insufficient balance. Failed? That couldn't be right. I still had two thousand dollars in there. My hands shook as I pulled up the transaction history. The most recent charge was a two-thousand-dollar transfer. It had gone out the night before last, to my mother's account. I walked barefoot into the living room. Molly was curled up on the couch, tearing open a white box. A brand-new phone case still had its plastic film on, catching a soft sheen under the warm lamplight. "It's the latest model," she said to Mom without even glancing up. "You're the best, Mom. My old phone was so laggy. It was way overdue for an upgrade." Mom set a plate of sliced watermelon down on the coffee table, her eyes curving into a smile. "As long as you like it. Only the best for you." I walked over and held the phone screen up in front of her. "Where's my money?" Mom froze for a second, then her expression darkened. "What's with that attitude? It's only two thousand dollars. You just graduated, you don't need much money anyway. So what if I bought Molly a new phone? That old one of yours still works fine, doesn't it?" I looked down at the knockoff phone in my hand. The screen was a mess of cracks, the battery had swollen twice already, and I was scared every time I plugged it in to charge. Mom had handed it down to me after using it for three years, telling me it was fine for school as long as it could make calls. "That was money I saved up from four years of part-time jobs in college," I said, my voice shaking. "Haven't you eaten and lived off my money your whole life? And now you're keeping score with me over this?" Mom pushed the watermelon plate toward the middle of the table and handed a slice to Molly. "Put down the phone for now. Have some watermelon." Molly took the slice and bit into it, juice running down her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Come on, don't be so petty about it. It's only two thousand dollars. I'll earn it back in a couple months once I'm working." I looked at her. "Working with what? You can't even build a layer." "Mom! Look at her!" Molly slammed the watermelon rind down on the table, pulp splattering across the surface. "She's looking down on me again!" Mom set down what she was holding and came to stand right in front of me, her finger almost jabbing my nose. "You are just too selfish. You've been like this since you were little, always wanting to keep everything for yourself. You've never once said a warm word to me. Your sister is ten times more thoughtful than you. We'll just put it on credit for now and pay it off once she gets her first paycheck. That's only two months, isn't it?" She caught her breath, her tone leveling out a little. "And another thing. Once you start working, you'll hand over half your salary to me every month for household expenses." Molly threw herself off the couch and latched onto Mom's arm, nuzzling her face into her shoulder. "Mom, you're the best! I don't have to pay in, right?" Mom gave her nose an affectionate pinch. "Like I would ever want your little bit of money. Keep it for yourself. As if I'd take from you." Watching the two of them, so warm and cozy together, cut me to the bone. Chapter 6 Stealing my spot, I'd swallowed that. Molly was bound to slip up sooner or later anyway. Smashing my computer, I'd swallowed that too. The design was all in my head regardless. But them stealing my money meant I couldn't even buy a plane ticket to get to my new job. That was ruining my future. That, I could not let go. I grabbed the purse Mom had left on the arm of the couch and turned to run for the door. Mom lunged and grabbed the strap. "You're rebelling against me now?" I shouted, "Give me back my money!" Mom's eyes went red, and she screeched, "What do you mean, your money? I raised you this whole time, shouldn't you be paying me back? You've barely graduated and already think you're too good for this family!" She swung her hand and slapped me. I heard the whistle of air before the sting exploded across my cheek. I staggered sideways, my knee slamming into the leg of the coffee table, and I went down hard. Pain shot up from my knee like a red-hot iron rod dragged through the bone, and I curled up on the floor, cold sweat breaking out all over me. Mom stared at her own hand, fingers slightly splayed, as if she hadn't expected the slap to actually land. Her lips moved like she wanted to say something. Molly peeked out from behind her. "Mom, forget about her. She's probably faking it. It's just a little knock. It can't be that bad." She tugged at Mom's sleeve, whining in that practiced way of hers. "I start work in a few days, Mom. Let's go buy the things I'll need first. A notebook, a pen, a commuter bag. I saw one at the mall earlier, it's only a little over eighty." As she said it, she snatched the purse from beside my feet and stepped right over me, smug as anything. Molly pulled Mom a couple steps toward the door. Mom glanced back at me once. I lay on the floor, my vision going dark from the pain in my knee, one arm braced against the ground, the other hand clutching my knee. Her gaze lingered on my face for a second before Molly dragged her out the door. I lay there for half an hour before I managed to pull myself up using the coffee table. My knee had swollen up, a patch of blood soaking through my pant leg. When I rolled it up, the skin had broken, bruising spreading out from the wound. I limped back to my room and ordered antiseptic ointment and bandages online. My balance went from thirty-two dollars to twenty dollars. Once I'd treated the wound, I opened the suitcase back up and checked that my ID and diploma were still tucked in the inner pocket. I bought a one a.m. train ticket, hard seat, leaving my balance at just over three dollars. The station was crowded, and even at that hour it wasn't much quieter than the daytime. I found a corner in the waiting hall and sat down, my knee still throbbing, my walk reduced to a limp. I went through the gate, boarded the train, and found my seat. I shoved the suitcase under the seat and curled up by the window, watching the pitch-black platform slide slowly away outside. Once the train started moving, I took out my beat-up old phone and sent Mom two messages. [Every dollar you've ever spent on me, I'll pay back in full.] [From today on, we have nothing left between us.]