“He does,” Mom agreed, clicking something on the screen. “Way more drive than most kids his age. We’re lucky.”
I swallowed hard, the words landing like stones. Lucky. Drive. I’d been pulling doubles since 19, saving every tip for my own shot at classes, and that was coasting. The fan spun overhead, indifferent. They moved on to shop talk. Dad complaining about a customer who kept delaying payment on a transmission rebuild. Mom suggested using part of the next deposit to cover Tyler’s stuff if things got tight.
I backed away slowly, careful not to bump the side table, and slipped upstairs. In my room, I sat on the bed, lights off, staring at the faint strip of glow under Tyler’s door across the hall. The education account wasn’t a myth. It just had rules I’d never been told about. All those knows I’d accepted, all the applications I never filled out because I believed we were broke. It rearranged itself in my head, ugly and sharp.
It stirred up another memory I usually buried. About 2 years earlier, I’d finally lined up an entry-level medical billing course at the technical center. Short program. Affordable. Would have given me office experience and maybe insurance to help with my thyroid meds. I’d studied the brochure for weeks, even got a recommendation letter from my diner manager. The entrance exam was on a Friday morning. Thursday night, my car sat fine in the driveway. Friday, it wouldn’t start. Battery completely drained, cables loose like someone had tugged them. Dad came out, looked under the hood, said it needed a jump, and maybe more. By the time he got it running and I drove over, the testing window had closed. Non-refundable fee gone. Spot filled. I called from the parking lot, voice cracking, and they said, “Sorry, next cycle was six months away.”
Dad never build me for his time. Acted like he’d done me a favor. Tyler had been heading out that weekend for a beach trip with friends, last minute plans, big group. I never thought twice about it then. Too upset about the money lost, too focused on picking up extra shifts to recover.
But now, with the education account laid bare, that old breakdown felt different. Suspicious. Like maybe someone had made sure I stayed stuck. I didn’t have proof, just a sick twist in my gut that wouldn’t settle. I lay awake most of the night, turning it over, the pieces not quite fitting, but close enough to hurt.
Morning came too soon. I dragged myself downstairs around 9:00, still in yesterday’s fog, pouring coffee while the sun blasted through the windows. Tyler wandered in closer to 10—hair messed up, wearing gym shorts and a tank top. He grabbed cereal, the expensive kind mom bought just for him, and leaned against the counter, scrolling his phone. He glanced up eventually.
“Hey, you working today? Afternoon shift?”
“Why?”
“My truck’s low on gas and I’ve got that lecture at noon. Can you drop me off at campus? It’s on your way to the clinic, right?”
The clinic. My thyroid appointment. The one I’d booked months out because the endocrinologist stayed backed up. Recent labs had flagged something off. Nothing urgent, but enough for closer monitoring. Ultrasound, blood draw, consult. I’d already arranged coverage at work. I stirred my coffee slower.
“Can’t today. That appointment’s important. They’re checking the nodules again.”
“You can fill up or grab a ride with Ashley.”
He laughed short and annoyed.
“Seriously, it’s 20 minutes out of your day. Just move the doctor thing. Labs aren’t going anywhere.”
“Move it.”
Like slots grew on trees.
“No. I’ve waited too long already. Handle your own ride.”
Tyler’s face tightened. He set his bowl down harder than necessary.
“Whatever. You’re always like this.”
He stormed out of the kitchen, phone already to his ear as he headed toward the living room. I heard him muttering something about me being difficult. Mom appeared in the doorway a minute later. Arms crossed. Expression set in that familiar disappointed line.
“Tyler says you won’t help him get to class. It’s one ride.”
“Mom. He’s got a truck and a license. It’s not just a ride.”
“It’s supporting his education. You know how scattered he gets. One small favor, Haley. That’s all.”
Small favor. The phrase echoed all the others I’d heard over the years.
“This is my health. The doctor specifically said not to delay.”
