When did you realize that some people in authority are just plain idiots?

The Burden of Expectation

Me and my sister Isabella were like the sun and the moon, but in the worst way possible. When we were kids, she got straight A’s while I got B’s. My parents would ask why I couldn’t be more like her. By senior year, the divide was pretty established.

Isabella had just landed this amazing marketing internship at some fancy firm downtown. My parents literally threw her a party. When I got into art school a month later, my dad asked if I’d considered something more stable, like Isabella’s doing.

Three weeks into her internship, Isabella showed up in my room at 2:00 in the morning. I knew something was wrong because she never came to my side of the house. Her mascara was everywhere, and she was doing that hiccup crying thing.

“I messed up,” she kept saying. “I messed up so bad.”

Turns out she’d maxed out Mom’s emergency credit card, buying work clothes, $3,200. I almost choked when she said the number. “Everyone there dresses like they walked out of Vogue,” she said, grabbing my hands. I just wanted to fit in.

“Grace, you have to help me.”

I remember staring at her, not getting it. “Just tell Mom the truth. She’ll understand.”

Isabella actually laughed, but it was bitter.

Are you kidding? She’ll make me quit. She’ll say I’m not ready for the real world.

Then she said the thing that got me. You have to say it was you. Mom already thinks you waste money on your goth clothes. She’ll believe it, and she won’t punish you as hard because she didn’t finish.

But I knew what she meant because Mom already expected me to screw up. So I did it. I took the fall.

The next morning when Mom found the charges, Isabella was conveniently at her internship. I sat there while Mom cut up the credit card, lecturing me about gothic accessories not making you special.

I got a job at a coffee shop the next day, then added nights at a gas station. My life became flooded with 50-hour work weeks and calculus homework.

Meanwhile, Isabella would come home gushing about client dinners, wearing her new designer clothes that I was paying for. The worst part was how much she’d changed.

After she got promoted to junior coordinator, she’d make these comments.

This whole thing was probably good for you, Grace. Finally learning financial responsibility.

When I asked about her paying me back after six months, she actually said I should thank her for the life lesson.

Fast forward three years. Our whole extended family was at Thanksgiving and I just mentioned taking out loans for grad school. Isabella’s eyes lit up with that familiar predatory gleam.

She launched into a speech about financial responsibility loud enough for everyone to hear. The whole table was listening as she painted a picture of my supposed $3,200 Gothic shopping spree.

She detailed how Mom and Dad had to teach me a hard lesson. She explained how I’d worked all those awful hours to pay back my irresponsible debt.

Something in me just snapped. Three years of keeping quiet. Three years of being the family disappointment while she played the perfect daughter in clothes I paid for.

Actually, I heard myself say, “Since we’re sharing financial wisdom, why don’t you tell everyone what that money really bought?”

The table went silent.