She handed the keys to my older sister and said, “Savannah needs it more. You’re single. Uber is easier for you.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream. I just stood there and watched something that was mine disappear as if my feelings didn’t matter at all.
Then came Grandma June’s seventieth birthday party.
I arrived in an Uber.
The moment I stepped into the private dining room, Grandma looked at me and frowned. “Why are you arriving in an Uber, sweetheart? What happened to the SUV we bought you for your birthday?”
Before I could even answer, my mother smiled and said, “Her sister needed it more.”
The room went still.
And what Grandma did next left everyone speechless.
Growing up, I was always the overlooked one. There were only four of us in the house—Mom, Dad, my sister Savannah, and me—but somehow I always felt like an extra in someone else’s story. Savannah was four years older, blond and outgoing, exactly like Mom. I took after Dad: darker hair, quieter, the kind of person who noticed everything and said very little.
Savannah was the center of attention. I was the one expected to adjust.