The Thirty Thousand Dollar Daughter

My brother and I are boy-girl twins, but growing up, there was only ever one birthday cake. And my name was never on it.

I asked my mother about it once. I was eight years old. She pulled me into a hug that felt more like a restraint, her voice dripping with that soft, practiced sweetness.

"Because you’re the older sister, Hazel," she whispered into my hair. "The good things have to go to your brother first. You’ll understand when you’re older."