Chapter Four

Laurel's POV

"Laurel, your dad and I are heading out this morning. Take the filter out of the range hood and give it a wash."

October fifth, 7:23 a.m.

By the time Mom stopped at my door, I was already dressed and ready to go. She didn't notice a thing.

"Mm-hm."

"Once it's clean, put it out on the balcony to dry. Don't stick it in the dishwasher. You're the one who ruined the last one."

Vivian was the one who ruined it. But I'd given up on explaining a long time ago.

"Mm-hm."

"You're on your own for lunch. We're eating at your uncle's."

"Mm-hm."

Mom frowned. "Is 'mm-hm' the only thing you know how to say today?"

I looked up at her.

We looked a lot alike, especially our eyes. When I was little, I used to stand alone in front of the mirror and compare our faces over and over, trying to find some sign that she wasn't my real mom.

I never found one, because there was nothing to find.

"Mom, I might grab dinner with some coworkers tonight, so I'll be home late."

"Got it. Don't drink too much."

She turned and walked away, her slippers scuffing across the floor. She didn't look back once.

At eight thirty, Mom and Dad left. At nine fifteen, it was Vivian's turn.

On her way out, she called from the living room, "Laurel, I'm staying at a friend's tonight, so I won't be home for dinner."

"Okay."

The door shut, and the whole house went quiet.

I sat on the couch for ten minutes, taking in every corner of the place.

The TV stand was covered in Vivian's trophies and photos. Her professional portraits hung on the wall. Four pairs of limited-edition sneakers were lined up neatly by the shoe rack. The cashmere coat she'd washed two days ago was still hanging out on the balcony.

Out of all of it, what was actually mine?

The rubber gloves by the sink were mine. So was the mop in the corner of the balcony. And so was the note I'd stuck on the fridge door: "Mom, don't forget your blood pressure meds."

The only proof I'd ever lived here was the work I'd done for them. Nothing in this house showed that anyone had ever cared about me.

I grabbed my backpack, pulled my suitcase over, and put on my shoes by the door.

When I turned around, I saw that note on the fridge again. I reached over and tore it off.

Then, after a second, I stuck it back up.

Better to leave it. Someone still had to remind her to take her meds.

I could hate her with everything in me and still worry about whether she was taking her pills on time. I couldn't figure out how both feelings fit inside me at once, but they did.

I didn't do what people do in the movies, easing the door shut and turning back with tears in my eyes for one last look.

I just pulled it closed like I always did and heard the lock click into place.

It sounded no different from every other time over the past fifteen years when I'd left to buy groceries, take out the trash, or pick up a package.

My driver to the airport was a talker.

"Heading overseas? Vacation or work?"

"Work."

"Where to?"

"Sweden."

"Wow, that's a long way. How long you gonna be gone?"

"Five years."

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, clearly surprised. "Five years? Bet your family's gonna miss you like crazy."

Outside the window, the little diners and corner stores I knew so well flashed by.

"They'll be just fine."

I got to the airport two hours before takeoff. I checked in, dropped off my suitcase, got through security, and sat down at a coffee shop near my gate.

My phone was silent. Not a single message.

Nobody asked where I'd gone. Nobody noticed that today was any different from yesterday.

I opened my contacts and found Mom's number.

My finger hovered over it for a long, long time.

In the end, I didn't call.

What would I even say to her?

That I was gone, so they didn't have to pretend to have two daughters anymore?

That one little joke had saved them fifteen years of paying for a housekeeper?

Or that I knew everything now, that I'd been their real daughter all along, just the one they didn't love?

No matter how I put it, it sounded to me like I'd be begging for their love all over again. I couldn't do that anymore.

The first boarding call came over the speakers.

I put my phone away and slung my backpack over my shoulder.

I walked down the jet bridge and onto the plane. Just before the door closed, I looked back.

Behind me was a warm American October. Ahead of me was a long Scandinavian winter, closing in a little more every day.

My phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket.

It was Vivian.

"Can you send the photography course money today? Thanks!"

I read it and tapped the reply box.

"Vivian, I'm not paying for it."

I hit send and turned my phone off.

The plane started rolling down the runway, its lights flashing past the window one after another.

I leaned against the window and closed my eyes.

That year, I was twenty-three.

Starting today, I was done living just to take care of everyone else, and I was done playing along with their joke.