1 My brother and I were born with matching port-wine stains. Mine is a jagged, dark violet mask that crawls across my right cheek, pulling at the corner of my eye. Growing up, the kids at school called me “The Phantom.” My brother, Austin, has his on his calf. In a world of jeans and cargo pants, no one ever knew it was there. My parents always looked at me with a mixture of pity and exhaustion. “We just don’t have the money for the lasers, Cade,” my dad would say, his eyes fixed on the TV to avoid looking at my face. “You’re a man. Looks don’t matter as much for you. If you want it gone, you’ll have to earn it.” So, I became obsessed with money. While Austin was out playing varsity soccer and blowing his allowance on sneakers, I was the kid collecting scrap metal, mowing lawns in the sweltering heat, and working double shifts at the local cannery. I lived on peanut butter sandwiches and tap water, saving every nickel. Austin didn’t care about his mark; he lived for the moment, always asking for advances on a “lifestyle” he couldn’t afford. The summer after high school graduation was my breaking point. I had spent two months on a grueling warehouse assembly line, working twelve-hour shifts until my bones ached. But I did it. I finally had the fifteen thousand dollars for the surgery. I walked into the house, buzzing with the kind of hope I hadn’t felt in eighteen years. In the living room, Austin was standing there in a pair of board shorts, grinning. He looked radiant. My father was staring at him, his eyes glistening with pride. “Look at our boy. You look incredible, Austin. No more hiding. You can go to college and finally be the man you were meant to be.” My mother smoothed Austin’s hair, her voice thick with emotion. “A fresh start for my baby. You’re going to be the king of that campus.” I froze. “How did Austin pay for the surgery?” The room went dead silent. Austin’s eyes darted to the floor. My stomach dropped. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s okay. I worked for it. I saved enough for mine, too.” My mother sighed, a heavy, performative sound. “Cade, honey… the day of Austin’s procedure, the surgeon said there were complications. We needed a specialist, and the insurance wouldn’t cover the extra costs. We had no choice. We had to use the money in your savings account to cover the balance.” I felt like the floor had vanished. “My money? That was ten years of work.” “Cade, you’re so strong,” my older sister, Becca, piped up, reaching into her bag. She pulled out a pair of expensive-looking designer sunglasses and handed them to me like a consolation prize. “Besides, you’re the smart one. Men don’t need to be pretty to succeed. Wear these when you start classes. They’ll cover the worst of it.” I touched the rough, dark skin on my cheek. At that moment, I was suddenly, violently grateful that the university I had chosen—the one that gave me a full ride—was three thousand miles away. My mother kept staring at Austin, her eyes welling up again. “Austin, I’m so sorry we made you wait this long. I know how much you suffered, carrying that mark on your leg. I know how it hurt your confidence. Now, you can finally be yourself.” My father nodded solemnly. Austin wrapped them both in a hug. I wanted to scream. What about me, Mom? You want your son to walk into college with confidence, but am I not your son? I’m the one who was called a monster. I’m the one who was isolated, bullied, and told by every girl I ever liked that I was a “creep” before I even opened my mouth. Did you think I wasn’t hurting? The words died in my throat. It was useless. Austin had always been the priority. When I was twelve and Dad lost his job, they cut my advanced math tutoring but kept Austin’s expensive club soccer. When we graduated, they bought Austin a brand-new iPhone as a reward. They gave me Dad’s old, cracked model. Austin was the “Golden Boy”—sunny, charming, and easy to love because his life was easy. I was the “Responsible One,” which was just code for the one they could ignore. I was the one who cleaned the house while they went to Austin’s games. My reward for being “good” was always just a pat on the head and a request for more help. My father pulled out his phone, fumbling with the camera. “Let’s get a picture of the new Austin. I want this on the photo wall. Something to look at when you’re away at school.” “Dad, get my good side!” Austin joked, striking a pose. They all laughed, a warm, tight-knit unit. Becca noticed me standing in the shadows. She looked a bit guilty. “Come on, Cade. Get in the photo.” She knew I hated cameras. She knew there wasn’t a single photo of me on that wall because I couldn’t stand to see the “Phantom” staring back. I shook my head. The warmth in the room curdled instantly. “Seriously, Cade? The attitude?” Dad’s face hardened. “Your sister just bought you a three-hundred-dollar pair of glasses and you haven’t even said thank you. Now you’re going to ruin Austin’s celebration?” “He’s just upset about the money,” Austin muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Is that it?” Dad barked. “You think that money was yours? We’ve fed you and housed you for eighteen years. Everything in this house belongs to the family. You’re brothers. Who cares who gets the surgery first? It’s not like we said we’d never help you.” My mother began to sob into her hands. “It’s our fault! We’re just poor, failed parents! Is that what you want to hear, Cade? Do you want us to get on our knees and beg for your forgiveness because we tried to help your brother?” “Cade, just apologize,” Becca hissed, giving me a pointed look. The weight of their collective disappointment felt like lead in my lungs. I looked at their faces—the people who were supposed to love me most—and realized I was an intruder in their home. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. “I’m sorry, Mom. Dad.” I stepped into the frame, forcing a rigid, grotesque smile for the camera. They barely looked at the photo before they started huddling around the screen, debating which one to post. Austin complained that his hair looked messy in the one with me in it. The photo with me was deleted seconds later. That night, Austin decided we needed to celebrate at The Diamond Grill, the most expensive steakhouse in town. My parents hesitated—it was way out of their budget—but Austin just looked at me with a smirk. “Cade, I saw Grandma give you a graduation card yesterday. I saw the cash.” He grinned, pulling a red envelope out of his pocket—my envelope. “I figured you’d want to treat the family. Since I’m the one who had the big surgery and all.” “Give that back,” I said, my heart racing. “Oh, don’t be such a miser,” Dad laughed, clapping Austin on the back. “He’s got you there, Cade. You’ve always been the stingy one. Let’s go. Steak is on the ‘Phantom’ tonight!” They went to change, laughing and chatting, leaving me alone in the living room. They didn’t care that those few hundred dollars were my only bridge to college. I stood there, frozen, until they had been gone for ten minutes. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Mom: Cade, you’re always the slowest. We’re almost there. Get a move on. They hadn’t even realized I wasn’t in the car. It started to pour. I didn’t have a car, so I ran to the bus stop, soaked to the bone, and arrived at the restaurant shivering. “There he is. Took your sweet time,” Mom remarked as I sat down. The table was already covered in half-eaten appetizers. They hadn’t waited for me to order. Austin had ordered everything he liked—calamari, shrimp cocktail, loaded fries. “Here, have some of this salad,” Becca said, pushing a plate toward me. “Austin forgot he was allergic to the walnuts and ordered it anyway. Good thing we caught it. Go ahead, Cade.” I looked at the wilted greens and the stray pieces of walnut. My family had forgotten that Austin and I were twins. We shared the same DNA. We shared the same allergies. I pushed the plate away. “Jesus, Cade,” Dad snapped. “Stop being so dramatic. You act like you’re too good for a five-star restaurant. If you’re going to pout, don’t eat.” Austin chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I forgot. Cade likes the cheap stuff. Remember in high school? I’d ask him if he wanted to go for burgers, and he’d just sit in the cafeteria eating plain white bread and an apple to save a buck.” The table erupted in laughter. “Our Cade,” Mom wiped a tear from her eye. “No taste for the finer things. Just a simple boy.” “At least Austin has some class,” Dad added, looking at me with a sigh. “You should learn from your brother. He’s generous. He’s got spirit. You’re just… small, Cade. You’ve always been small-minded.” My chest ached so sharply I thought I might collapse. I was ‘stingy’ because you told me I had to pay for my own life, Dad. I was ‘small’ because I was trying to survive you. I looked down at my phone and sent a message to the freshman group chat for Saint Jude’s University: Does anyone know if the work-study program allows for early arrival on campus? On the way home, the rain turned into a deluge. We only had two umbrellas. Becca gave hers to Austin and huddled under the other with my parents. They hurried to the car. I was the last one out. Before I could even reach the door, Austin rolled down the window. “Hey, Cade! I really want one of those gourmet milkshakes from that place two blocks over. The car won’t fit in that alley. Go grab four and then just Uber home? We’ll see you there!” The car sped off before I could say a word. I walked through the freezing rain for twenty minutes. When I reached the shop, I bought the four shakes, and then, for the first time in my life, I bought a fifth one for myself. It was thick, sweet, and expensive. It tasted like rebellion. I didn’t get home until 10:00 PM. The house was warm and smelled like popcorn. “Cade, finally,” Becca said as I walked in, dripping wet. “Can you go make some ginger tea for Austin? He’s been sneezing and we don’t want him getting sick before the big trip.” “No,” I said quietly. “Excuse me?” “I’m tired,” I said, walking past her. “You’re just lazy,” my mother yelled from the couch. “You’re nothing like your brother. I don’t know how we’re going to count on you when we’re old.” I didn’t hear the rest. I closed my door and locked it. The next morning, the house was full of excitement. They were planning a pre-college vacation. “Let’s go to the ranch in Montana,” Dad suggested. “Austin always wanted to go horseback riding.” “What about the coast?” Mom countered, showing Austin photos on her phone. “You’ve never seen the Pacific, honey. The weather is perfect this time of year.” They went back and forth for twenty minutes before Mom glanced at me. She looked like she wanted to say something, but stopped. “Don’t bother,” Dad said. “He never wants to go anyway. He’s always been antisocial.” “Yeah, Cade,” Austin laughed. “Don’t blame us. We didn’t invite you because you’d just complain about the cost. Remember that camping trip in middle school? You refused to go.” I remembered. I remembered that Dad told me I had to pay for my own campsite and gear out of my savings. “Money shouldn’t come between family,” he had told me back then, “but Austin’s a kid, he doesn’t have a cent. We’ll pay for him. You’ve got your little stash.” I hadn’t wanted to spend three hundred dollars of my surgery fund, so I stayed home. I spent that weekend looking at their Facebook photos, crying in my room. After that, they stopped asking. I checked my phone. A message from the university: Yes, Cade. We have early-move-in slots for work-study students starting next week. I felt a surge of relief. I took my last bit of hidden cash and booked a one-way Greyhound ticket to the city. I planned to leave while they were on their trip. But then, the day before they were supposed to leave, Mom came into my room. Her face was soft, almost maternal. “Cade,” she said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “We’ve been thinking. We want to take you to the clinic tomorrow. We talked to Austin’s surgeon. He thinks he can do a preliminary laser treatment on your face. It won’t fix it, but it might fade it a little before you head off to school.” My eyes stung. A lump formed in my throat, thick and painful. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe, in their own messed-up way, they did care. “Thank you, Mom,” I whispered. The next day was a dream. They took me out for a massive breakfast. Mom kept touching my shoulder, asking if I was nervous. Becca took the day off work to be there. Austin was nowhere to be seen. For a few hours, I felt like a son. But when we got back from the clinic, the mask fell off. “Cade,” Mom said, her voice dropping into that familiar, pleading tone. “Austin realized yesterday that he messed up his college applications. He didn’t get into the main campus. He only got into the community college extension.” I felt a cold shiver. “He’s been crying all night. He’s devastated. Cade… we were wondering… could you stay home for a year? Do a gap year with him at the community college? Just to support him?” The world turned gray. “You know how sensitive he is,” she continued, her eyes red. “I’m afraid if you go off to that big university alone, he’ll spiral. He needs his brother. And besides, Saint Jude’s is so far. Maybe you could reapply next year to somewhere closer? Somewhere like State Tech?” Mom, I got into Northwestern. I’m the valedictorian. How do you not know that? “No,” I said. My voice was trembling. “I won’t do it.” I stood up and walked to my room, the tears finally spilling over. I didn’t say another word for the rest of the night. The next morning, I was on the balcony, hidden by the laundry, when I heard Becca and Mom talking in the kitchen. “Don’t worry, Mom,” Becca said. “I talked to Austin. He’s fine now that he knows Cade is staying. He’s already looking at classes they can take together.” “But Cade seemed so upset…” “Oh, please. Cade is the ‘Good Son.’ He always folds. Remember when he wanted to transfer high schools because of the bullying? Austin cried for five minutes about being lonely, and Cade stayed. He’ll do it again. Just go on the trip, have fun, and we’ll handle the paperwork when we get back.” I heard the front door click shut. I walked into my room, pulled my suitcase from under the bed, and started packing. This was the last time I would ever be the “Good Son.”
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