As a child, I loved meat, but Mom thought it was too expensive.
So she would always buy fatty cuts of pork that others didn’t want.
I couldn’t stomach the fat and would throw up every time.
She would just frown and call me picky and dramatic.
From then on, I never touched pork dumplings or any fatty meat again.
“You just have to nitpick, don’t you? Turning good intentions into insults! I told you your sister shouldn’t bother being nice to you!”
From the corner of my eye, I caught Emily smirking at me with satisfaction.
“Sophia, why can’t you just eat what’s given to you? Mom bought you something nice, and you won’t eat it—aren’t you only making things harder on yourself?”
I gave a short laugh.
“Dumplings count as something nice? I remember Mom often sneaking you out to restaurants. Don’t tell me she never bought you anything better.”
Yes, for Emily, Mom always spared no expense.
When I was eating pickles with bread, she was feeding Emily the most expensive formula.
When I thought cafeteria noodles were a treat, Mom was already taking her out for barbecue.
Emily hated fat, so Mom would carefully trim it away. She ate meat every meal, while I got whatever vegetables were left over.