The Daughter They Charged for Love

1: 1

My parents won the lottery, and just like that, I no longer had to worry about college tuition.

"A hundred and twenty grand. Fifty pays off the mortgage, twenty buys Toby Sullivan a car, twenty covers Renata Sullivan's four years of college, and the last thirty is for our retirement."

I counted it out, again and again. There was no share for me.

Under my startled stare, my parents fished out a thick stack of yellowed IOUs.

"When you were one, hospital stay. Fifty-two hundred."

"At seven, martial arts gym registration. Eight hundred."

"At eight, surgery. Thirteen hundred."

"You were sickly from the day you were born. Do you have any idea how much money you cost this family? And you've got the nerve to ask for a share of the lottery?"

I stared at the crooked signatures on each page. It was true. Every last one had been spent on me.

But the hurt sat heavy in my chest all the same, because my brother and my sister never had to sign a single IOU.

"Then how am I supposed to pay for school?"

"Student loans. We're not stopping you."

Their voices were flat.

"We're getting old. We have to keep something set aside for ourselves."

I turned and went back to my room and looked at the recruitment brochure my guidance counselor had sent, for a special early-admission program.

Tuition fully waived. A monthly stipend on top of that.

Since in this family I was the only child who had to "pay it back" just to be allowed to live,

then I would go far away.

From here on out, distance and silence between us. Debt cleared, and no one left to hold on to.

1.

I stared at that stack of IOUs.

From age one to nineteen, thirty thousand in total.

My father's tone was sharp.

"There's a limit to what a parent owes you. Food, clothes, a roof, getting around, that's already more than enough."

I said nothing.

I'd heard the line more times than I could count.

Beyond the bare basics, food, clothes, a roof, getting around, I wasn't allowed any extra expense.

The moment there was one, I had to write an IOU.

But I'd been frail and sick since I was small, and medicine alone cost plenty.

By then they were already getting ready to head out.

"Come on, big dinner out. We're celebrating!"

My father and mother had changed into new clothes just for the occasion.

My brother and sister looked thrilled too.

"Sis, you're not coming?"

My sister, Renata, glanced at me.

I shook my head slightly.

"No. I don't want to write an IOU."

My father's face changed in an instant.

"It's a good day. Why do you have to ruin the mood?"

My mother clicked her tongue.

"We ask you to sign an IOU and now you're the one hard done by? You've cost more than anyone since you were little!"

"Write a hundred-dollar IOU and we'll let you come along!"

I shook my head again.

"I really won't go. Instant ramen is fine for me."

Instant ramen didn't require an IOU.

They seemed used to it by now and didn't press me any further.

I stared at the stack of IOUs on the coffee table.

The one on top was creased and crumpled.

Age one, ICU, fifty-two hundred.

I'd written that one when I was six, filling it in after the fact.

My father held my hand around the pen, stroke by stroke.

It was the first time I learned to write my own name, Maya Sullivan.

"Your life was bought back with this family's money. When you grow up, you remember to pay it back."

Every year after that, every single item, I signed.

Age seven, a year of martial arts tuition, eight hundred.

I was in such poor health, sick every few days, so my mother sent me to train for a year.

Later the colds got fewer, but I broke a bone, and that cost fifty-eight hundred.

Age ten, I had a growth spurt, so a new school uniform meant signing a twelve-hundred IOU.

My deskmate asked why I didn't just swap out a uniform that didn't fit. I smiled and said I was used to it.

Age twelve, a classmate had a birthday, and a dozen or so girls pitched in to buy a gift.

I went home and asked my mother for money. She flipped open the account book.

"You went six hundred over on medicine last month, and you still want spending money?"

After that, I could only fake being sick and skip it.

There were two empty phone boxes on the table, left over from when Toby and Renata had just gotten their new phones.

They were used to me clearing away the trash.

I dropped the boxes into the bin, and something in my chest turned faintly sour.

For as long as I could remember, I had never gotten a proper gift.

"Cake's a hundred, gift's a hundred. You want a present, you sign an IOU."

I'd signed one when I was six, and after that I never dared ask for a gift again.

From then on, New Year's, Children's Day, birthdays, Christmas, every day my brother and sister got presents, I never dared bring up a gift of my own.

My father bought my brother a new pair of sneakers, two thousand.

He didn't have to sign an IOU.

My mother bought my sister a new dress, eighteen hundred.

She didn't have to sign either.

The year I turned fifteen, I finally worked up the courage to ask my mother.

"Why am I the only one who has to sign?"

My mother was so angry she broke down sobbing.

"Your brother is a son! I gave birth to him first. He's the one who gives this family its face! If I don't cherish him, then who?"

"Your sister's got a strong constitution. She barely cost a thing growing up, so of course we treat her well now. That's what's fair!"

Her scale of fairness had three markings.

My brother stood for face. My sister stood for peace of mind. I stood for debt.

She had her own logic.

My father's car had driven off into the distance.

I dialed my guidance counselor's number.

"Mr. Lane, is it still possible to apply for the special early-admission program?"

"Today's the last day. But will your parents agree to it?"

I was quiet for a moment.

"Sir, I want to go."

I didn't want to live the life of the "IOU" anymore.

I wanted a different family.

A home in my heart, a home I could believe in.