“We’ve decided to take Talia instead.”
My mother said it before I had even gotten the trunk open. She said it the way people say the weather is turning, or that the store is out of milk. Like it was a small change of plans. Like it was nothing.
I was standing in my parents’ driveway at five-forty in the morning with my keys still in my hand. The sky over the rooftops was that thin gray color it gets before sunrise in late October. My breath was coming out in little white clouds. Three coffees sat in the cupholders of my car, one black for Dad, one with oat milk for Mom, one with two sugars for me.
“What do you mean, instead?” I asked.
Dad came down the front steps with his rolling suitcase. Behind him, my sister Talia was dragging a second one, a bright red one I had never seen before. She was wearing sunglasses even though the sun wasn’t up.
“Your sister needs this more than you do, Nina,” Dad said. “She’s been having a hard time.”
“I’ve been planning this for five months.”
“And it’s a beautiful plan,” Mom said. She reached out and patted my arm. “You did such a wonderful job. Talia’s going to love it.”
I looked at Talia. She didn’t look at me. She was looking at her phone.
“Dad, my name is on the reservation. I took the week off work. My suitcase is in the car.”
“We already took care of the ticket,” Dad said. “Talia’s flying in your seat. It’s done.”
“You changed my ticket? Without asking me?”
“You’d have made it into a whole thing,” he said. “Like you’re doing right now.”
I stood there. Nobody said anything for a few seconds. A neighbor’s dog started barking somewhere down the block.
Then Talia finally looked up. “Can we go? We’re going to miss the flight.”
That was the part I couldn’t get over later. Not the words. The fact that she wanted me to drive them. She wanted me to load her new red suitcase into my trunk and drive her to the airport so she could take my seat on the trip I had paid for.
“Take a cab,” I said.
Mom’s face went tight. “Nina, don’t be petty. It’s our fortieth anniversary.”
“I know what it is, Mom. I’m the one who booked it.”
Dad already had his phone out, calling a ride. He didn’t argue. He didn’t apologize. He just turned his back and stood at the end of the driveway, waiting.
I got back in my car. I didn’t drive away right away. I sat there and watched the three of them through the windshield. Talia was laughing at something on her phone. Mom was fixing the collar of the cream wool coat we had picked out together at Nordstrom three weeks earlier. Dad was checking his watch.
None of them looked back at me.
When the cab pulled up, they loaded their bags and climbed in, and it turned at the corner, and they were gone.
I sat in the driveway with three coffees going cold. Then I pulled up the hotel reservation on my phone.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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