I was shopping for running shoes at the mall when my cousin Noah casually mentioned how much fun everyone had on the family vacation.
I smiled at first.
Then I stopped walking.
“Wait,” I said. “When is the family trip happening?”
Noah looked at me strangely.
“What do you mean?”
“The trip. When are you guys going?”
His expression changed.
“Wait… you don’t know?”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Know what?”
He lowered the shopping bag he was carrying.
“We went last month.”
For a few seconds, the noise of the mall seemed to disappear.
“What do you mean you went last month?”
“Turks and Caicos,” he said. “Mid-June. Your mom, Brooke, Uncle Gary, Aunt Rachel… everybody.”
I stared at him.
Everybody.
Except me.
The worst part was that I had paid $4,000 toward that vacation.
I had not only been excluded.
I had helped pay for it.
Noah suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“I thought you canceled,” he said. “Your mom said you couldn’t make it.”
That sentence changed everything.
Three months earlier, my mother had called me with what she described as a rare family opportunity.
The extended family was planning a “once-in-a-decade” vacation.
Everyone was supposedly contributing.
The rental property had to be booked immediately, she said, and they would figure out the exact dates afterward.
