Chapter 3The Price of a Washing Machine: A Daughter's Rebellion

The movers were quick. The new washing machine was moved to my apartment that same day.

When we went to pick it up, my mom blocked the doorway, refusing to let us move it. In the end, I had to call the building super to come help carry it out.

And that old washing machine was placed exactly back in its original spot.

That night, as I was assembling the hookups for the new washing machine, my sister called.

As soon as I answered, her shrill voice pierced my eardrum: "Are you serious? Causing such a huge scene over a stupid washing machine!"

I crouched on the floor, still holding a screwdriver. "Am I the one causing a scene, or is Mom? Do you even know what happened?"

"You've been like this since we were little!" She completely ignored what I said. "Whenever you see me have something, you have to fight Mom for it. Now you're even fighting over a washing machine. Mom is right, you act like a beggar!"

The screwdriver trembled in my hand. I suddenly remembered buying my apartment two years ago.

I could have bought the place I liked in cash.

But Chloe said she wanted to go on an exchange program abroad. My mom cried at home all day, saying the art school was too expensive and she felt like she was failing Chloe. Seeing my mom's red, swollen eyes, my heart softened, and I gave her $30,000. Then I took out a mortgage to buy my place. I'm still paying it off.

"A beggar? Since you brought it up," my voice was surprisingly calm, "when do you plan on returning the thirty thousand I gave you?"

The other end of the line went suddenly quiet.

"What... what do you mean?" Chloe's voice was noticeably weaker. "You know how much I make right now..."

"When you came back to the States last year, you said you'd pay me back as soon as you found a job." I jammed the screwdriver hard into the toolbox. "It's been over a year now. You've changed jobs twice, bought a three-thousand-dollar designer bag, but you just don't have the money to pay me back?"

"You!" She suddenly raised her voice. "Mom is right, you're cold-blooded! You deserve it that Mom doesn't love you!"

The call disconnected. The dial tone sounded exceptionally harsh in the empty apartment.

I crouched next to the new washing machine and suddenly laughed out loud.

It's true, Mom doesn't love me. Everyone knows it, but I was the only one still deceiving myself.

I picked up my phone and sent Chloe a text message: "Transfer the money to my card by next week. Otherwise, I'm coming to your work to cause a scene."

When we were little, Mom would buy Chloe new dresses, while mine were made from Chloe's hand-me-downs. When I thought they were ugly and refused to wear them, Mom would coax me, saying: "Your sister's clothes are good quality."

Now, I no longer plan to yield or wrong myself.

Even if the price is finally admitting that the person I tried so hard to please will never love me.