They Burned My Name From the Family: Now I'm Untouchable

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At the family's memorial gathering, four tall stacks of blessing offerings sat piled beside the fire basin.

One for my father, one for my mother, one for my brother, one for my brother's girlfriend.

None for me.

I kept telling myself the old coastal customs had a lot of rules, and maybe they were still getting mine ready.

The very first day my brother brought his girlfriend home, my mother treated her like one of us and bought her the most expensive gold-leaf paper there was.

I sent eight thousand dollars home on schedule every single month,

and I'd come back to a memorial gathering without even a paper blessing packet in my name.

I stood rooted in front of the home altar. "Where's mine?"

My mother was lighting incense.

"A girl's name written on the packet means the ancestors can't receive the money. It just wastes the blessing."

And yet the packet for the girlfriend my brother had only just started dating was set in the most prominent spot of all.

The next day I bought a stack of gold paper ingots myself, wrote my name on them, and set them beside the offering table.

Just as the flames leaped up,

my father was poking at the fire basin with the stoking rod.

"I was just giving alms out front. Burned them for the wandering souls out on the road."

I said, "That was my blessing offering."

My father didn't even lift his eyes.

"A few scraps of cheap yellow paper. Next year I'll have your mother fold you some more."

My brother mumbled from off to the side.

"Huh? Sis, I thought Mom just tossed those there as kindling."

Right. Scrap paper for starting a fire. Once it burns to ash, it's meant to scatter on the wind.

Scattered this time. Never to gather again.

...

"It's your brother's fiancée's first visit — and as his big sister, the senior woman in this family, you'll put up fifty thousand for a set of gold jewelry for her."

The memorial rites had just ended, the steam over the dinner table still hanging in the air.

I'd just picked up a piece of the roast goose, and my chopsticks stopped midair.

"I make ten thousand a month. Eight of it goes home for living expenses. I don't even have two thousand to my name."

My father's hand froze around his cup.

Seeing it, my mother immediately picked up a slice of foie gras and dropped it into my bowl.

"Caroline Head's always been the sensible one. A girl doesn't spend much out there. Squeeze a little and you'll come up with it."

Squeeze a little?

That cramped, run-down rental of mine out on the city outskirts didn't even have a decent wardrobe.

Three years. I hadn't bought a single piece of clothing over twenty dollars.

"Mom, I really don't have it. Last month Paul Head wanted the newest phone, and you had me cash out my credit line to buy it for him. I'm still paying that off in installments every month."

My mother patted the back of my hand.

"No cash? Then put it on a credit card."

She dropped her voice, her eyes flicking toward my brother's girlfriend sitting across from us.

"Your brother needs to hold his head up in front of that girl, and it's all riding on you, his sister, to keep up appearances. This is the Head family's face."

Paul was staring at a game on his phone. He muttered it without looking up.

"Mom, forget it. If Sis really doesn't have it, I can just take out an online loan. The money comes through fast these days anyway."

"Bang! "

My father slammed his teacup down on the tray, and the scalding tea splashed across the back of my hand.

"No man in the Head family borrows money! Caroline grew up eating this family's food. Your brother's getting married. What's wrong with you chipping in a little!"

Paul flinched, hunched his neck down, and went back to hammering at his phone screen, not sparing me another glance.

The burn on the back of my hand kept spreading.

I cupped my hand and started toward the sink to rinse it.

My mother sprang up out of her chair and yanked my phone straight out of my jacket pocket.

"Mom! What are you doing!"

I cried out and reached to grab it back.

She clamped a hand on my chin and shoved the phone screen right up against my face.

Face unlock. Success.

Her fingers moved with practiced ease into the payment app.

"The transfer password is still Paul's birthday, right? I knew you'd never dare change it."

"Your credit limit's sixty thousand, isn't it? Pull out fifty."

I watched her key in the amount without hesitation, my fingertips gone cold.

"Mom, cashing it out means fees and interest. What am I supposed to pay it back with?"

My father let out a cold snort beside me.

"Quit crying poor. You're a girl. Find some man to marry, ask for a bride price, and any debt's paid off. What's the problem?"

My mother tossed the phone back onto the table, satisfied, and nudged the dishes toward me again like she was handing out charity.

"There. Eat. It'll taste off once it's cold."

I looked at that plate of roast goose, picked apart and left in a mess.

And it hit me that in this family, I wasn't even worth as much as that carved-up goose.