After I spent $600 of my bonus on a new washing machine for my mom, all she did was complain that it didn't work. "You're quite the schemer, aren't you? You didn't even give your sister the ten dollars you got for the old machine. Just pocketed it yourself." My face flushed. I thought she was joking, so I gave an awkward laugh. "Why would you think that?" She shot me a glare and changed the subject. "This piece of junk. I wash a set of sheets and they still come out sopping wet." I took a look and realized she was using the 15-minute quick wash cycle. I started to switch it to the bulky items setting, explaining which cycle to use for which type of laundry. But she shoved my hand away and stubbornly twisted the dial back to quick wash. "Your sister said the quick wash saves water and is gentler on the clothes." Her voice rose with anger, and she slammed a laundry basket down. "You have to calculate every little thing. It's not your water bill, so of course, you don't care. Not like your sister. She thinks about us in everything she does." A chill went through me. I called the scrap dealer, paid him twenty bucks to bring the old washing machine back, and then arranged to have the new one moved to my own apartment. 1 I got a $600 bonus from a big project at work, and my first thought was the washing machine at home. It was over a decade old, one of those ancient models where you had to move the wet clothes to a separate drum for the spin cycle. When my mom washed anything heavy, the water-logged fabric was a struggle for her to lift, and I was always worried she’d throw out her back. I took a half-day off for the delivery. Watching the scrap dealer haul the old machine away, I felt a warm glow, imagining how surprised and happy Mom would be when she got home. She returned from her dance fitness class and froze in the doorway. Still holding the red silk fan she used for her routines, she just stood there, staring at the new machine in the bathroom. "Where's the old one?" she asked. "Sold it to the scrap guy," I said, polishing the control panel of the new machine. "Only got ten bucks for it." Her expression soured instantly. The silk fan slapped against the sofa. "Who told you to do that?" Her voice was piercing. "That machine still worked!" I assumed it was just her usual frugality. "Mom, this new one is energy-efficient and quiet, and it can—" "Waste of money!" she snapped, cutting me off before storming into the kitchen. The faucet roared to life as she began furiously scrubbing a dishrag that didn't even need washing, as if venting her frustration. She didn't speak to me for the rest of the night, not even touching the pastries I'd bought specially for her. Two days later, my phone rang at work. The second I answered, I heard her yelling. "What kind of junk did you buy? It doesn't clean anything!" When I rushed over, she was yanking a bedsheet out of the drum. Clumps of undissolved laundry powder clung to the damp fabric, and a puddle of water was forming on the floor. I knelt to see what the problem was. "You're quite the schemer, aren't you?" she said suddenly. My fingers froze. I looked up at her. She was scrubbing the machine's exterior with a cloth, not even looking at me. "You didn't even give your sister the ten dollars you got for the old machine. Just pocketed it yourself." I thought I'd misheard. "What?" "Ten dollars." She finally straightened up, flinging the cloth into a basin. "You can't even let go of such a small amount of money." My face burned with humiliation. I forced a smile. "Mom, why would you think that..." She shot me a look and went back to wrestling with the duvet cover in the drum. "This piece of junk. I wash a set of sheets and they still come out sopping wet." That's when I noticed she was still using the 15-minute quick wash. No wonder the powder hadn't even dissolved. I started to switch it to the bulky items setting, explaining which cycle to use for which laundry. But she shoved my hand away and stubbornly twisted the dial back to quick wash. "Your sister said the quick wash saves water and is gentler on the clothes." She grew more agitated, slamming a laundry basket down. "You have to calculate every little thing. It's not your water bill, so of course, you don't care. Not like your sister. She thinks about us in everything she does." 2 It finally clicked. In my mother's eyes, everything in this house belonged to my sister, Merrin. Even a broken-down washing machine worth only ten dollars. I could spend $600 on a brand new one for her, but I had no right to the ten dollars from the old one. That money should have gone to Merrin. My hand was still on the control panel, my fingertips cold. Mom stood beside me, impatiently shaking out more clothes, waiting for me to get out of her way. "Mom," I said, my voice trembling slightly, "do you think that ten dollars should have gone to Merrin?" She frowned. "Who cares about ten dollars? I'm just saying, you're so..." "Is that it?" I cut her off, my voice sharper than I'd expected. "Do you think that any money from that machine belongs to her?" "That's not what I mean!" she snapped, her voice rising. "I just think you're too selfish, you never consider anyone else." Those words were like a key, unlocking a floodgate of memories. Two years ago, when we renovated the kitchen, the old cabinets sold for $150. The money went directly into Merrin's bank account. "Your sister's a bit tight on cash right now," Mom had said. But at the time, I had just made the down payment on my apartment, and the pressure of the mortgage was so intense I couldn't sleep at night. "It's been like this my whole life," I said, my voice growing steadier. "Anything that belongs to this family eventually becomes Merrin's. You're even afraid I'll take advantage by keeping the money from a worthless old washing machine." Mom slammed the laundry basket down. "What are you talking about!" "Am I?" I pulled out my phone. "What about Grandpa's tea set from last year? You said you were saving it for Merrin because she appreciates things like that. But Grandpa told me himself he was leaving it to me!" The machine beeped shrilly, the quick wash cycle finished. Mom yanked open the door, and a wave of damp air hit my face. "Your sister has always been the thoughtful one," she said, shaking the clothes so hard that water droplets splattered on my face. "Not like you, counting every single penny." I wiped my face and suddenly remembered something from college. I had worked part-time to save up and buy her a cashmere sweater. She didn't even try it on, just said the color was too dark. Later, I saw it on Merrin's Instagram, the caption reading: New sweater from Mom! "Counting every penny?" I laughed out loud and dialed the scrap dealer. "Hey, Mark? Could you bring that washing machine back... yes, the one I sold you for ten bucks... You want more? How much?... Fine, twenty is fine." Mom's head snapped around. "What are you doing!" "Buying back Merrin's washing machine," I said, hanging up. My voice was unnervingly cheerful. "After all, it was ten whole dollars. Can't let me have it all to myself." Her face turned beet red. "Are you crazy? Why would you waste money like that!" "'Waste money'?" I nodded. "I spent $600 on this new machine—my bonus for working overtime on a grueling project. Do you know what I'm using right now? The broken, secondhand machine the last tenant left in my apartment. It sounds like a tractor every time I use it. I'll just take this one back for myself. That way, nobody's being wasteful. You can go on living with Merrin's precious washing machine." Mom's mouth hung open, as if she couldn't believe I was saying these things. After all, I had always been the obedient daughter, never once defying her. For a long moment, she was too stunned to speak. I made another call and scheduled a mover to pick up the new machine that afternoon. When I hung up, the silence in the room was deafening, broken only by my mother's heavy breathing. "Mom," I said softly, "do you remember the year I took my college entrance exams?" Seeing my softer tone, she must have thought I was about to apologize. Her attitude immediately turned haughty, and she gave a cold snort. "I had a fever of 102, but you said Merrin had a midterm the next day and I couldn't disturb her sleep." My nails dug into my palms. "I was alone at the clinic on an IV drip until three in the morning." That finally set her off. She grabbed a plastic hanger and smacked me across the back with it. "Why are you bringing up all that old ancient history!" My back burned. I couldn't help but think of all the times it rained when I was a kid. My mom would be at the school gate with only one umbrella, and it was always for Merrin. "You're older," she'd say. "If you run fast enough, you won't get wet." "You know," I said, grabbing my bag and walking toward the door, "sometimes I really wish you would just say it. Just say you love Merrin more. Just say that everything in this house is hers." The moment the door closed, I heard a loud crash from inside. She must have thrown the laundry basket again. 3 The movers were fast. The new washing machine was in my apartment by that evening. When they came to pick it up, my mother stood blocking the doorway, refusing to let them in. I finally had to call building security to help get the machine out. The old washing machine was returned to its original spot, as if nothing had happened. That night, as I was setting up my new machine, Merrin called. The second I answered, her shrill voice pierced my ear. "Are you serious? Making such a huge scene over a stupid washing machine!" I was still kneeling on the floor, a screwdriver in my hand. "Am I the one making a scene, or is Mom? Do you even know what happened?" "You've been like this since we were kids!" she steamrolled on, completely ignoring my question. "You see something I have, and you have to go crying to Mom about it. Now you're even fighting over a washing machine. Mom was right, you're nothing but a beggar!" The screwdriver trembled in my hand. I suddenly remembered buying my apartment two years ago. I could have paid for it in full. But Merrin announced she wanted to do a study abroad program. Mom cried all day, saying the art school was too expensive and she was failing Merrin. Seeing my mother's red, swollen eyes, my heart softened and I gave her $30,000. I took out a loan for the rest, a loan I'm still paying off. "A beggar? Since we're on the subject," I said, my voice eerily calm, "when are you planning on paying back the thirty thousand dollars I gave you?" The other end of the line went silent. "What... what do you mean?" Merrin's voice was suddenly weak. "You know how much I make right now..." "When you came back last year, you said you'd pay me back as soon as you got a job." I jammed the screwdriver back into the toolbox. "It's been over a year. You've changed jobs twice and bought a two-thousand-dollar handbag, but you don't have money to pay me back?" "You!" she shrieked. "Mom was right! You're a cold-blooded animal! No wonder Mom doesn't love you!" The line went dead. The dial tone sounded deafening in the empty room. I knelt beside my new washing machine and suddenly burst out laughing. It was true. My mother didn't love me. Everyone knew it. I was the only one still trying to fool myself. I picked up my phone and sent Merrin a text. Have the money in my account by next week, or I'm coming to your office to get it. When we were little, Mom would buy Merrin new dresses, while my dresses were Merrin's old ones, altered. I'd complain they were ugly, and Mom would coax me, "But Merrin's clothes are better quality." I wasn't going to back down anymore. I wasn't going to make myself small and miserable. Even if the price was finally admitting that the person I had tried so desperately to please would never, ever love me.
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