Chapter 2

2.

The doorbell rang the next evening.

Derek went to answer it. His voice shot up a full octave, carrying an excitement I hadn't heard in a long time.

"Vanessa! Why didn't you tell us you were coming!"

Vanessa's laugh flooded the living room like chilled Prosecco bubbles. She had this effect―wherever she went, the air in the room stirred alive.

"Surprise! What's life without a little spontaneous madness?"

Jaden's footsteps thundered down from the second floor, so fast he nearly tumbled down the stairs.

"Vanessa!"

Lily sprang up too. Her iPad hit the carpet with a slap. She didn't even look at it.

The downstairs sounded like a Super Bowl party.

Derek hauled out a bottle of Clase Azul from the tequila cabinet he'd been hoarding for most of the year, announcing with great ceremony that tonight called for a real celebration.

That bottle only came out when Vanessa visited.

Vanessa's voice cut through all the noise and landed precisely on me.

"What about Maya? Not coming down to chat?"

Derek's hand paused mid-pour.

"She's sulking. Got it in her head she had to go to Coachella. I told her―Maya, you're past that phase, don't do this to yourself. And her reaction? Stone-cold poker face. Pettier than Lily during her tween mood swings."

Vanessa sighed. That pitying, resigned tone twisted my stomach into a knot.

"She's been like this since we were kids. Just can't let things go. Your family is basically a modern-day Brady Bunch, and she―she can't see what's right in front of her. Insists on chasing some desert rave like she's twenty-two."

She paused. Her voice softened, like she was pleading my case and hammering the final nail into it at the same time.

"But honestly, Derek, don't blame her. She's never set foot outside Austin her whole life. Her world is... small. You've all been so patient with her."

A brief silence fell over the living room. Like a moment of silence for me.

Jaden broke it.

"Enough of this downer talk. Vanessa's here. We're getting barbecue at Terry Black's. I'll navigate."

Derek jumped in immediately.

"The influencer has arrived. How can we not go for the best brisket in Austin?"

Lily shrieked along.

"Yes! Vanessa comes over and we get barbecue!"

A chaotic shuffle of coats being yanked on, keys being hunted for, Jaden and Derek bickering over who would drive. Then the front door slammed shut.

Then silence.

I came out of the second-floor bedroom and stood at the top of the stairs.

The living room was empty. The muffins still sat on the island. Dishes were piled in the sink.

Vanessa's wine glass held half an inch of tequila. Her lipstick print stained the rim.

A family of four had driven off for downtown barbecue. Not one person came upstairs to ask if I wanted to come.

No one even asked.

I sat on the couch. The dark TV screen reflected a woman.

Faded Target cotton T-shirt. Hair yanked into a messy ponytail, overdue for a salon appointment by weeks. Hands cracked raw from flour and dish soap, one old burn scar from the oven still visible.

Standing next to Vanessa, I looked like a sun-bleached photograph propped next to an oil painting.

She was unmarried, childfree, unfettered. Chased sunsets from Tulum to Santorini. Two hundred forty thousand Instagram followers tracked the #VanessaUnchained journey.

She wore Reformation dresses. Le Labo Santal 33. She picked up my son from school in a Porsche Cayenne, and Jaden filmed her from the passenger seat with the caption: "My cool aunt Vanessa is cooler than your entire life."

Me? I married Derek. Spent sixteen years moving between the oven and the sink. Raised a son, then had a daughter. Full-time unpaid house manager and family baker.

My Etsy shop brought in eight to nine thousand a month, but in this house, that was just "Mom's little hobby."

I looked up at the family photo mounted above the fireplace.

Five people beaming wide. Even the golden retriever made it into the frame.

Derek in the center. Jaden and Lily on either side. Vanessa draped elegantly over his shoulder.

That was last Christmas. I was in the ER on an IV drip with gastroenteritis. Vanessa took everyone out to the bluebonnet fields for a "family portrait session."

Derek had the photo framed and hung above the fireplace. When he told me about it, his tone was pure self-assurance, like he'd made the decision for my own good.

"Vanessa was spending the holidays alone. I couldn't let her be lonely. I took care of your sister because I love you."

Then he stepped back to admire his work. Saw my silence. His face darkened.

"She's your sister. You're jealous of that? You two have been at odds since you were kids. You're too old for this toxic nonsense. Family supports family."

I didn't argue.

That family photo without me hung in the most prominent spot in the living room for a year. On the most valuable wall in the house.

This house I bought outright before marriage. With the inheritance my mother left me. The deed has only ever had my name on it.

Sixteen years. Derek lived here like a rent-free tenant. The utilities were paid by my Etsy shop orders.

I stared at Vanessa's radiant smile in that photo, and suddenly the absurdity of it all crashed down on me.

A person who lived in this house didn't even qualify to be in the family portrait.

You can erase me from a whole festival's worth of tickets. You can bury me alive in this kitchen for sixteen years. And you still expect me to stand at the stove forever, waiting to heat up leftovers when you're done having fun?

That night, I pulled my passport and the bank safe-deposit key from the drawer in Derek's study. Locked them in the bottom of my own makeup case.

Then I lay back down in bed. I don't know what time Derek came home. I only remember him lifting the covers, reeking of barbecue and tequila. He muttered one thing.

"You should hit the gym. Your stomach's getting loose. Vanessa's thirty-six and she still has abs."

I didn't move.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears. Wave after wave.

I remembered sixteen years ago. After Vanessa rejected him, he turned around and got down on one knee outside a pizza joint on South Congress.

"Maya, you're the kind of girl who makes a man feel grounded. I need you. I'd be lost without you."

He said artists drift. Life needs an anchor.

I was the anchor.

I was twenty-two. I'd just opened my first baking stall using my mother's recipes. I was full of fire. I thought anything was possible.

I thought being needed was the same as being loved. I thought being a ship's anchor was romantic.

It took me sixteen years to understand what those words really meant.

An anchor stays on the ocean floor. An anchor goes nowhere. An anchor's purpose is to be corroded by saltwater and rusted by sediment, so the people on the ship can chase the wind and waves.

And on that ship sat Derek, Jaden, Lily, and Vanessa―forever in the best seat.

Not me.

I clenched my jaw. Gripped the blanket so hard my nails bit through the duvet into my palms.

Tears slid from the corners of my eyes into my ears. I stayed completely still until they went cold.