The Vinegar Bell Peppers

We were having a family barbecue in the backyard. I told my girlfriend, Maya, not to brush vinegar on the grilled bell peppers. My cousin, Julian, overheard and laughed. "Grilled bell peppers need vinegar to taste good!" My mom immediately chimed in. "Julian’s right. A little vinegar definitely makes them better." Afraid Maya would brush vinegar on all of them, I quickly warned her: "Maya, remember, leave two bell peppers without vinegar." She didn't even look up. "Yeah, yeah, I got it." By the time I finished cutting the fruit, the bell peppers were done. They were neatly lined up on a platter, looking charred and appetizing. I set down the fruit platter and grabbed a skewer of bell peppers. The moment I opened my mouth, a strong, sour waft of vinegar hit my nose. 1 Refusing to give up, I swapped it for another skewer, and then another. Without exception, every single one was drenched in vinegar. Staring at Maya’s back as she tended the grill, I asked with my last shred of hope. "Are all the bell peppers done?" She didn't turn around. "Yeah, you love bell peppers the most, so of course I grilled them first for you." Hearing that, it sounded like I was really important to her. If I didn't know that every single pepper was soaked in vinegar. I might have actually felt lucky. But right now, I had completely lost my appetite. I didn't even want her as a girlfriend anymore. Julian looked at me, confused. "Arthur, why aren't you eating?" He picked up a skewer, took a bite, closed his eyes, and let out a dramatic sigh of satisfaction. "Mmm~ so good. This is exactly it. You have to use vinegar on grilled peppers." Seeing that I still wasn't eating, a thought seemed to cross his mind. "Maya, Arthur didn't want vinegar. Did you save any for him?" Maya flipped a steak on the grill and glanced back at him. "Didn't you all say they taste better with vinegar?" Julian jogged over and playfully nudged her shoulder. "Arthur specifically asked you to leave two without it!" Maya let out a squeak. "Ah! Be careful! I'm brushing the hot sauce right now. If I put too much, you're going to complain it's spicy again!" Julian smirked triumphantly. "If it's spicy, I'll just make you eat it all." As they giggled and flirted, my bell peppers were completely forgotten. Maya was my girlfriend. My fiancée, actually, since we were already engaged. I had brought her home to meet my family a grand total of three times. I didn't realize she and my cousin Julian were already this close. I put the skewer back on the platter. I deliberately made the clatter a little louder than necessary. Maya finally turned to me with an apologetic smile. "Arthur, they were all grilled together. I wasn't paying attention, and I just brushed them all out of habit." Seeing that I didn't immediately let her off the hook, she frowned. "Besides, your mom said to use vinegar too. Stop trying to be so difficult." I genuinely couldn't understand. Is asking to leave two skewers without vinegar considered being "difficult"? I asked her. "Taking two skewers out before you brushed them, or just leaving two for me to grill myself—was that really so hard?" Maya didn't know how to answer. My mom let out a dramatic sigh. "Arthur, Maya is already exhausted from grilling. Stop nitpicking." "It's just a little vinegar. You're just being dramatic." As if to prove a point, she immediately picked up a skewer and took a bite. "See? This is perfectly delicious." After finishing her sentence, she handed a skewer to my dad. My dad didn't say a word. He took a bite, nodded vigorously in agreement, finished it in three bites, and reached for another. Encouraged, Julian beamed at them. "See, Auntie? Uncle? I told you they're better with vinegar." Just then, my younger sister, Chloe, walked out onto the patio, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "What smells so good?" Julian immediately picked up a skewer of peppers and held it out to her. "Chloe! You're finally awake. We're eating grilled peppers, try one and tell me if it's good." "Thanks, Julian." My sister took it, casually thanking him. She devoured it in seconds, and before she even finished swallowing, asked if there were more. Her reaction made everyone laugh. Everyone except me. It was obvious that everyone loved that plate of vinegar-soaked peppers. Except me. It was always like this. Nobody ever liked the things I liked. Whatever Julian said was good, everyone agreed was good. In this family, I was always the odd one out. 2 Julian is two years older than me. When he was twelve, my uncle and aunt got divorced. My mom went back to her hometown and brought him to live with us. From then on, whenever my mom visited her side of the family, she was treated like royalty. Plus, Julian was incredibly good at sweet-talking. So it was a mutually beneficial arrangement. When Julian first moved in, I actually liked him. I thought I was getting an older brother, a built-in playmate. My mom always used to say: "Julian is so pitiful. He doesn't have his parents anymore. Arthur, you need to be understanding and let him have his way." I thought that meant sharing my snacks or toys. I didn't realize it meant surrendering my place in the family. Whether it was intentional or not, later that evening during the barbecue, they insisted on putting vinegar on everything. Aside from the fruit I cut myself, I didn't eat a single thing. But I didn't throw a fit or flip the table. Because I knew. Even if I did, it wouldn't earn me their understanding or guilt. I would just end up looking like the bad guy. I still remember my tenth birthday. It was my birthday, but the cake was strawberry—Julian's favorite flavor. That time, I knocked the cake onto the floor. My mom called me an ungrateful brat. My dad said I was being immature. My sister complained that I ruined a perfectly good cake. Julian cried and said it was all his fault. The entire family scolded me while simultaneously comforting him, telling him not to cry. I was so blinded by rage that day. I cried and screamed, demanding they send Julian away. In response, they all went out to dinner, locking me—the birthday boy—in the house to "reflect on my actions." That was my first birthday after Julian moved in. From then on, my birthday cake was always his favorite strawberry flavor. When I was a kid, I didn't understand. I threw tantrums when I was wronged, which only resulted in more punishments. Eventually, I stopped throwing tantrums. I started studying relentlessly. I wanted to prove to them that I was the smartest, the best. Finally, I ranked first in my entire grade, earning a rare smile from my dad. But before I could even enjoy it for two seconds, my mom ripped my report card to shreds. Because Julian and Chloe hadn't done well. Julian cried, saying he was stupid and not as smart as me. Chloe said I was just showing off and it made her too angry to eat. So my dad's intended praise turned into a solemn lecture. "Arthur, whatever you do, you can't just think about yourself. You have to consider other people's feelings." I finally understood. No matter how excellent I was, they simply didn't care. This indifference got so bad that at one point, I legitimately suspected Julian was their biological son, not me. Because of this, the very first thing I did when I turned eighteen... Was to secretly get a DNA paternity test. The results confirmed, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was their biological son. The night I got those results, I hid in my room and cried until dawn. I would have rather been adopted. If I wasn't their real son, at least there would be a logical explanation for their blatant favoritism. But the truth was just cruel. I was their biological son. They just liked Julian better. Once I accepted that conclusion, I awkwardly began to untangle my emotional dependency on them. I stopped expecting them to see me. After graduating high school, I purposely chose a college far away from home. I thought I had given them enough space. But apparently, it wasn't enough. During the summer after my freshman year, I got a call from my mom. She said Julian was studying for grad school and the house needed to be quiet. She suggested I find a part-time job and stay out of the house for the summer. I understood what she meant. So I surrendered the very last inch of space I had in that house. I quietly moved out. Until I met Maya. I thought she was different. Because she once promised me that no matter what happened, she would always stand by my side. So what was happening now? Had she been assimilated by them? 3 They were all having a great time at the barbecue. But their lively atmosphere formed an invisible barrier around them. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't cross it. I desperately wanted to pull Maya aside and ask her why. But I saw her flanked by Julian on one side and Chloe on the other. There was no space for me next to her. A wave of panic washed over me. I just wanted to take her and leave. I grabbed my bag and stood up, but my mom's voice rang out behind me. "Arthur, are you leaving?" I froze in my tracks as she continued. "At least clean up before you go." I stood rooted to the spot. I didn't even know how to react. Maya finally looked over at me. "Arthur, are you leaving already?" I turned around, ignoring my mom, and stared straight at Maya. "I want to go home. What about you?" Maya immediately stood up. "Of course I'm going with you." Hearing that, the cold, damp feeling in my chest finally began to thaw. But her next sentence plunged me right back into the ice water. She said, "Wait for you to finish cleaning up, then we'll go." But... why? I didn't even want to come to this barbecue in the first place. My mom had called Maya directly, saying Chloe had gotten into college and wanted Maya to bring me home to celebrate. Since I started college, I had only been back to this house three times. Once to introduce Maya to my parents. Once when we got engaged. And today. I hadn't eaten a single bite of the barbecue. I only ate the fruit I brought myself. And I had already thrown away the peels. So what she wanted me to clean up... was the mess left behind by my family's feast. Seeing that I hadn't moved, my mom muttered a passive-aggressive comment under her breath. "Eating and running. Since when is that acceptable?" Chloe looked up from her phone and let out a mocking scoff. My dad remained silent. Julian quickly stood up. "Auntie, it's fine, I'll clean it up. Arthur works hard, it's good for him to get home and rest early." My mom grabbed his arm. "He's tired, but you aren't?! You planned this whole thing today, shouldn't he at least help clean up?!" Her voice grew louder, dripping with disappointment. "I don't know who he takes after. Since he was a kid, he only ever thinks about himself. Never once considering others." "I don't know how Maya puts up with him." Hearing her name, Maya awkwardly rubbed her nose. "Arthur, just clean it up. It won't take long." I stared at her in disbelief. I had told her everything. She knew exactly how much I suffered in this house. Yet she cruelly chose to rub salt directly into the wound my mom had just reopened. A sharp, needle-like pain pierced my chest, fine and prolonged, making it hard to breathe. Sensing my resistance and pain, she walked over, took my arm, and softened her voice to coax me. "Come on, it's just cleaning up a bit. I'll help you, okay?" I yanked my arm away violently. I forced back the tears that were threatening to spill over. My lips trembled slightly, but my tone was resolute. "Choose. We either break up, or we leave right now." She looked at me, confusion clouding her eyes, as if she didn't understand what I had just said. "Arthur, what are you talking about?" I looked at her, then swept my gaze across the family in the living room. I took a deep breath and repeated it, very seriously. "I said, if you stay to clean up, we break up." "If you leave with me right now, we pretend this never happened." As soon as the words left my mouth, everyone stared at me, their eyes wide with shock. In stark contrast to their disbelief, a sudden wave of calm washed over me. I had already written off this family. If Maya was going to side with them, then I would have to write her off too. Once I accepted that, a massive weight lifted off my chest.