Before he could say anything, Chloe approached the DJ booth and snatched the microphone away.
“And we have another wonderful surprise!” she announced.
My mother put her hands to her chest with an emotional expression.
Chloe looked directly at us.
—The honeymoon will be ours too!
The applause subsided, although some people continued to celebrate without fully understanding what they had just heard.
“Mom already arranged everything and changed the names on the plane tickets,” my sister continued, “so Tomás and I are going to enjoy that trip before our princess is born.”
Someone shouted from one of the tables that the expectant parents deserved a vacation.
Another person responded that it was an excellent idea to take advantage of the trip before the birth.
Several guests applauded again.
Daniel squeezed my hand.
It was our silent way of reminding each other that we were together, especially when one of us was too shocked or angry to speak.
I took a deep breath, smiled, and reached for the microphone.
“Since we’re sharing ads…” I began.
My mother stopped smiling.
I knew that expression all too well because throughout my life I had expected her eldest daughter to behave with discretion, understanding, and a patience that never seemed to be demanded of the youngest.
But to understand why that phrase caused him so much fear, I have to explain how we got to that night.
Chloe was born when I was four years old.
My parents used to say that her arrival had filled the house with joy because she was a charming, expressive, and extraordinarily sociable child. I adored her too, like any older sister proud to have a little companion to teach games, hairstyles, and songs to.
The problem started when that age difference became a permanent excuse to demand that I give up everything she wanted.
If Chloe broke one of my toys, my parents explained that I was still little and didn’t understand the consequences. If I protested, they reminded me that I had to be responsible because I was the older sister. When visitors came and she wanted to sit in my place, I had to get up to stop her from crying.
Those situations seemed insignificant individually, but together they taught me a lesson that took me many years to question.
In order for our family to be at peace, I had to give something up.
When I turned eighteen, my grandparents gave me a delicate necklace they had chosen especially to celebrate my entering university. It wasn’t the most expensive piece of jewelry in the world, but it had enormous significance because my grandmother Julia had personally been involved in choosing it and explained that she hoped to see me wear it during important moments.
Chloe was fourteen years old and decided that she wanted to wear it too.
I let her try it on during the celebration, but when it was time to give it back, she started crying. My mother intervened, saying she could borrow it for a few days, as my sister was going through a difficult time and needed to feel included.
Those days turned into weeks.
The weeks ended up turning into months.
I got the necklace back nine months later, when my grandparents asked why they never saw me wearing it again and my mother decided to avoid an awkward conversation.
Nobody demanded that Chloe apologize.
Instead, they congratulated me for being understanding.
Years later, when he turned eighteen, my parents bought him a car because they felt it was important that he could get to university comfortably. When I asked why I had had to use public transportation throughout my studies, I received a lecture on independence, personal effort, and the need to learn how to solve my own problems.
At twenty-two years old, I was working in two different places while I finished acquiring professional experience.
During the day I worked for an event planning company, and at night I attended events related to banquets and receptions. I slept little, carefully managed my expenses, and saved small amounts that seemed insignificant until, over time, they began to add up.
Meanwhile, Chloe changed projects whenever something stopped exciting her.
I never thought that her life should resemble mine.
What hurt me was that our decisions were always evaluated differently.
When I needed help, my parents reminded me that I was capable of getting through it.
When Chloe faced a difficulty, the whole family had to come together to find a solution.
At first, that inequality manifested itself in small favors.
My mother would ask me for money to cover an outstanding bill and promise to pay it back when she received her next paycheck. Then urgent repairs, medical appointments, or expenses related to the family car would come up. Since I had a stable income and had learned to save, I convinced myself that helping was the right thing to do.
