I Drew the Blank Straw for Eighteen Years Chapter 02

I Drew the Blank Straw for Eighteen Years Chapter 02

The day of the send-off party, Vivienne and Marielle came dressed to the nines.

Friends and relatives crowded around them, showering compliments.

Mom and Dad’s smiles never once slipped.

Someone at the next table over asked, half-curious:

“Both your girls got into Ivy-caliber schools—how’d Wren do?”

Mom answered, her tone brimming with indifference.

“She’s at Fairview. If she gets into community college, that’ll be a win.”

“Honestly, if we’d just had Vivienne and Marielle, I’d have saved myself so much worry.”

I stood in the doorway and listened to her list my failings for strangers.

Eighteen years, and I’d always been the cautionary tale that made the other two look good.

What they didn’t know was:

All through high school, Mom and Dad paid for private one-on-one tutoring for Vivienne, and sent Marielle to the priciest art studio in the county.

Me, they never lifted a finger for me. Not once.

Mom turned and spotted me in the doorway, frowning.

“Where’ve you been hiding? Could’ve come help out earlier.”

Before I could answer, she waved me off.

“Forget it. Look at you. I can’t count on you for anything anyway.”

The relatives followed her lead, looking me up and down, eyes full of disdain.

The party got underway, and the emcee suggested a family photo.

I stood up automatically.

Marielle leaned in and whispered in my ear.

“Wren, you’re headed to community college. Don’t go up there and ruin the mood.”

I froze mid-step. “Fine.”

She turned and pulled Julian, seated in the back row, up onto the stage with her.

Right before the shutter clicked, Aunt Carol spoke up.

“Wren’s not up here yet.”

Mom waved it off.

“She’s never liked photos. Comes out looking wooden anyway.”

On family trips as a kid, Dad would fuss over framing the perfect shot of Vivienne; Mom would hover around Marielle. No one ever asked if I wanted to be in the picture.

Flip through the thick photo albums at home and you’d find barely a handful of me in them.

Up on stage, all five of them beamed, dazzling.

So this was it—in their eyes, there had never been room for me in the family photo.

Not before. Not now. Not ever.

I’d never step into their frame again.

After the party, Julian handed each of us a box.

Vivienne’s held a beautiful fountain pen. Marielle’s, a pink Miu Miu hair clip.

Mine had a tube of hand lotion, with a little “complimentary” tag on it.

I looked at him, confused.

Some small part of me still hoped he’d just grabbed the wrong box.

He explained instead: “Wren, you’re going to need it once you start working some part-time job.”

Marielle chimed in.

“Wren, Julian’s so thoughtful with you. Even someone headed to community college gets a graduation present. And such a practical one, too.”

A flicker of malicious satisfaction crossed her mouth.

I stood there, frozen, forcing down the burn behind my eyes.

By the time I came back to myself, Mom, Dad, Marielle, Vivienne, and Julian were already piling into the car.

Five seats. No room for me.

Mom glanced at me standing outside the car and tossed out,

“Take the bus home yourself. You do it all the time anyway.”

The car pulled away and disappeared around the corner.

I laughed, short and cold, and dropped the box straight into a trash can on the curb.

It was the middle of summer, the kind of heat that should’ve been unbearable, but all I felt was cold, straight to the bone.

When I got home, Mom was counting the send-off party cash gifts.

I was heading back to the storage room when she caught my arm.

“Wren, your sisters did so well, everyone’s shown their appreciation. Shouldn’t you show something too?”

I paused for a moment and turned to look at Mom.

“Give them each one thousand,” she said, like it was obvious.

One thousand each. Two thousand total.

That was every dollar I’d scraped together since middle school—every summer and winter break spent working part-time jobs, saved up cent by cent.

Something in my chest went hollow, but I turned and went to get it anyway.

Might as well use it to buy out eighteen years of family that never amounted to much.

I went back in the cramped, dim storage room.

It had been my space ever since high school started.

My old bedroom had been split in two—half turned into Vivienne’s study, half into Marielle’s art studio.

My parents’ reason?

“You’re barely home anyway.”

Fine. I’ll give you exactly what you wished for.

I opened up a booking app and bought a plane ticket to Montreal, leaving in two weeks.