The $10 That Broke Us Chapter 2

It finally clicked.

In my mother's eyes, everything in this house belonged to my sister, Merrin. Even a broken-down washing machine worth only ten dollars. I could spend $600 on a brand new one for her, but I had no right to the ten dollars from the old one. That money should have gone to Merrin.

My hand was still on the control panel, my fingertips cold. Mom stood beside me, impatiently shaking out more clothes, waiting for me to get out of her way.

"Mom," I said, my voice trembling slightly, "do you think that ten dollars should have gone to Merrin?"

She frowned. "Who cares about ten dollars? I'm just saying, you're so..."

"Is that it?" I cut her off, my voice sharper than I'd expected. "Do you think that any money from that machine belongs to her?"

"That's not what I mean!" she snapped, her voice rising. "I just think you're too selfish, you never consider anyone else."

Those words were like a key, unlocking a floodgate of memories.

Two years ago, when we renovated the kitchen, the old cabinets sold for $150. The money went directly into Merrin's bank account. "Your sister's a bit tight on cash right now," Mom had said. But at the time, I had just made the down payment on my apartment, and the pressure of the mortgage was so intense I couldn't sleep at night.

"It's been like this my whole life," I said, my voice growing steadier. "Anything that belongs to this family eventually becomes Merrin's. You're even afraid I'll take advantage by keeping the money from a worthless old washing machine."

Mom slammed the laundry basket down. "What are you talking about!"

"Am I?" I pulled out my phone. "What about Grandpa's tea set from last year? You said you were saving it for Merrin because she appreciates things like that. But Grandpa told me himself he was leaving it to me!"

The machine beeped shrilly, the quick wash cycle finished. Mom yanked open the door, and a wave of damp air hit my face.

"Your sister has always been the thoughtful one," she said, shaking the clothes so hard that water droplets splattered on my face. "Not like you, counting every single penny."

I wiped my face and suddenly remembered something from college. I had worked part-time to save up and buy her a cashmere sweater. She didn't even try it on, just said the color was too dark. Later, I saw it on Merrin's Instagram, the caption reading: New sweater from Mom!

"Counting every penny?" I laughed out loud and dialed the scrap dealer. "Hey, Mark? Could you bring that washing machine back... yes, the one I sold you for ten bucks... You want more? How much?... Fine, twenty is fine."

Mom's head snapped around. "What are you doing!"

"Buying back Merrin's washing machine," I said, hanging up. My voice was unnervingly cheerful. "After all, it was ten whole dollars. Can't let me have it all to myself."

Her face turned beet red. "Are you crazy? Why would you waste money like that!"

"'Waste money'?" I nodded. "I spent $600 on this new machine—my bonus for working overtime on a grueling project. Do you know what I'm using right now? The broken, secondhand machine the last tenant left in my apartment. It sounds like a tractor every time I use it. I'll just take this one back for myself. That way, nobody's being wasteful. You can go on living with Merrin's precious washing machine."

Mom's mouth hung open, as if she couldn't believe I was saying these things. After all, I had always been the obedient daughter, never once defying her. For a long moment, she was too stunned to speak.

I made another call and scheduled a mover to pick up the new machine that afternoon.

When I hung up, the silence in the room was deafening, broken only by my mother's heavy breathing.

"Mom," I said softly, "do you remember the year I took my college entrance exams?"

Seeing my softer tone, she must have thought I was about to apologize. Her attitude immediately turned haughty, and she gave a cold snort.

"I had a fever of 102, but you said Merrin had a midterm the next day and I couldn't disturb her sleep." My nails dug into my palms. "I was alone at the clinic on an IV drip until three in the morning."

That finally set her off. She grabbed a plastic hanger and smacked me across the back with it. "Why are you bringing up all that old ancient history!"

My back burned.

I couldn't help but think of all the times it rained when I was a kid. My mom would be at the school gate with only one umbrella, and it was always for Merrin. "You're older," she'd say. "If you run fast enough, you won't get wet."

"You know," I said, grabbing my bag and walking toward the door, "sometimes I really wish you would just say it. Just say you love Merrin more. Just say that everything in this house is hers."

The moment the door closed, I heard a loud crash from inside. She must have thrown the laundry basket again.