“Oh, I remember him,” Mom says. “He played football and dated a cheerleader, didn’t he?”
“Sue Anne Morrison,” my sister chimes in. “They got married after college and he played pro ball.”
“And now he’s selling real estate?”
Erin lifts her shoulders. “He’s got his own company and he’s doing amazingly well.”
“With the cost of real estate here, I’m sure it’s lucrative.” Trust Mom to home in on the money angle immediately. “Maybe that’s something your brother can look into.”
“I thought Doug was happy at the garage,” I say.
“Oh, he is. Happy as a clam, actually. And if he had his way, he’d do nothing else for the rest of his life. But it wouldn’t hurt for him to have a little bit more drive.”
My brother had a tough time in school, largely, I believe, because of untreated ADHD. My mother refused to even consider it. “That’s a phony diagnosis used to cover up a lack of self-discipline,” she’d say if a teacher brought it up. I gave her articles about it, but Mom didn’twant to hear it. My father was no help. As far as Dad was concerned, my mother’s word was law. He never went against her.
“There’s nothing wrong with working at a garage,” I say.
“Of course not.” Mom pours a cup of coffee and hands it to me. “If he’d apply himself, though, he could get a white-collar job.”
My sister and I exchange a look. Mom hates the fact that my brother gets his clothes dirty. I understand where she gets it; her own father was a plumber, and she was teased as a child for having a father who worked on toilets.
“A lot of white-collar workers earn less than what he’s probably making,” Erin says.
“That’s right,” I say. “I read an article the other day about how there’s a shortage of highly skilled technicians, and Doug is definitely highly skilled.”
Mom sniffs. “Blue-collar jobs don’t leave a lot of room for advancement.”
Erin rolls her eyes. “Well, if he and Darla are happy, that’s all that matters.”
“That’s all that’s mattered until now, but...” Mom messes with the toaster.
“But what?”
“Nothing. I just wish he were more like you, Jessica.”
Doesn’t she realize how awful everyone feels when she holds me up as a gold standard against my siblings? “You were going to say something else. What’s going on?” I press.
Mom hesitates.
“Darla’s pregnant,” Erin blurts.
A stab of pain shoots through me. I hate that I’m so small that my brother’s good fortune bothers me. I fight to rise above it. “Oh! How... how wonderful.”
“Yes. We’re very excited,” Mom says.
“Yeah, that’s—that’s great. When did Darla find out?”
“She’s about four months along. But she only told us a few weeks ago.”
Mom has known for a few weeks? That means she didn’t tell me because she knew I’d find it painful. The kid-glove treatment makes it somehow harder to take.
“Well, I’m very happy for them,” I make myself say. I feel as if a potato has suddenly lodged in my throat. “Do they know yet if it’s a boy or girl?”
“They hope to find out at the next ultrasound.”
“That’s wonderful.” I stretch my mouth into a smile. “I’ll have to call and congratulate them.”
“Actually, they’re coming for dinner tomorrow night.” Mom’s eyes and mouth have that strained look she gets when she’s worried.
