My Parents Deleted My Only Graduation Photo for My Bestie Chapter 02

My Parents Deleted My Only Graduation Photo for My Bestie Chapter 02

The next morning, my mom dragged all of us to the mall.

Chloe was starting at a top-tier company soon, my mom said. She needed to look the part.

A $6,000 designer suit. A $15,000 work bag. $5,000 heels.

Chloe kept glancing at the price tags, and every time, my mom just smiled and waved away her concerns.

“You’re about to start at a top company. Of course you need to look the part.”

My dad handed over his credit card without blinking.

Julian was weighed down by shopping bags, yet he was already asking Chloe which perfume she wanted to look at next.

Logan crouched down and ran his thumb along the ankle strap of Chloe’s new heels.

“This part feels a little stiff. Let’s swap them out. You don’t want blisters on your first day.”

I stood a few steps back, watching the tender look on his face as he knelt there.

Four years of college, I’d worn ill-fitting shoes and walked everywhere with him.

When my feet blistered and bled, he just laughed and said I was being dramatic.

So he knew shoes could hurt. He’d always known.

It just wasn’t worth noticing when it was me.

I stopped in front of a luggage store.

My suitcase was ten years old. The corners had split open.

I’d wrapped the seams with packing tape so many times the layers were thick like a second skin, and the wheels barely rolled in a straight line.

I picked the cheapest one in the store.

$329.

I didn’t go straight to the register. I went to my dad first.

“Can I get this one?”

Even then, some stupid part of me was still hoping.

They’d just dropped almost $30,000 on Chloe without a second thought.

A $300 suitcase shouldn’t have been too much to ask.

Maybe I just needed proof that I took up any room at all in their hearts. Even a little.

My dad frowned.

“Don’t you already have one?”

“That one’s ten years old. It’s falling apart.”

“It still works, doesn’t it? You think money grows on trees? Your mom and I didn’t break our backs so you could waste it on things you don’t need.”

My mom came over.

“Chloe landed a real job. She deserves nice things.”

She looked at the suitcase in my hand, and her voice went flat.

“And what job are you getting? Why do you need a nice suitcase?”

“You’ll probably end up answering phones somewhere. Nobody’s going to care what suitcase you show up with. Just use what you have.”

Julian snorted.

“She’s just jealous. She sees Chloe getting things and suddenly she wants a handout too.”

My hand tightened on the handle. I put the suitcase back.

Chloe was waiting outside the store, her $15,000 bag on her shoulder, shopping bags piled around her feet.

“You’re not getting anything, Audrey?”

“No.”

I looked down at the faded canvas tote in my hand.

The money was there. Looking nice mattered. They’d just proved that.

It was only wasteful when it came to me.

That evening, my mom made reservations at an upscale restaurant to celebrate our graduation.

A huge cake was waiting in the private dining room.

I walked in, and the message frosted on it was the first thing I saw.

[Happy Graduation, Princess Chloe! Here’s to a bright future!]

Chloe’s cheeks flushed pink.

“Auntie, did you forget to add Audrey’s name?”

My mom didn’t even look up.

“She doesn’t even like cake. It doesn’t matter.”

I loved cake.

She’d just never bought one for me.

Over dinner, my dad slid a recommendation letter across the table to Chloe.

“Sterling already made the call. You start at Zenith next week. It’s close to home, and the pay’s solid.”

Chloe teared up.

“You’ve all been so good to me. I don’t even know what to say.”

My mom squeezed her hand.

“Oh, honey, stop. You’re family. You always have been.”

I watched their hands clasped together and felt like I’d sat down at the wrong table.

The whole thing was so warm it stung. Like I was the only person in the room that didn’t belong.

When the check came, my mom covered the rest of the bill with her account.

Then she sent me a Venmo request in the family group chat. One hundred and thirty-six dollars and fifty cents.

Just me.

“You’ve graduated now, Audrey. You can’t keep spending our money.”

“From now on, meals, rent, utilities, you’re paying your share.”

I stared at that fifty cents at the end of the number.

I clicked Pay.