Chapter 3 Laughter at My Expense

My aunt sized me up. "Well, Iggy, where are you off to with such a big suitcase? Running away from home?"

Her children laughed along.

My uncle walked in and set the fruit he brought onto the table. "Andrew, your daughter's got quite the temper these days."

My father's face darkened. He strode over, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the living room. "She's just throwing a tantrum. Sorry to let you all see this."

My mother quickly ushered the relatives to sit. "Come, sit. Nelly, go pour your uncle and aunt some water."

Natalie stood up obediently, her voice sweet and cheerful. "Uncle, Aunt, please have some water."

My aunt took Natalie's hand, beaming. "Sensible as ever, Nelly—and so pretty, too. Not like a certain someone, always hiding behind a mask like she can't be seen."

Her daughter leaned back on the sofa and glanced at me. "Iggy, you've been wearing that mask for over ten years, haven't you? Doesn't it feel suffocating? Take it off and let us see if you've gotten even uglier."

Laughter erupted across the living room, and my mother sat there, laughing along. "With that face of hers? If she takes it off, you'll all lose your appetite. She'd better leave it on."

I stood in the center of the room, like some kind of circus freak.

I did not argue. I simply turned to pull my suitcase, but my father slapped the back of my hand. "Where do you think you're going?"

Just then, Natalie pulled out a thick notebook from beneath a sofa cushion.

It was my diary. Inside were all my plans for the future. My dream of getting into Columbus.

"Uncle, look at this," she said with a laugh. "Isn't Ingrid ridiculous? She even wrote about making big money and leaving us. She even records every little expense on scraps of paper. How pathetic."

My other cousin, Owen, snatched it from her hands and read aloud, his voice exaggerated. "I want to leave this place and go somewhere no one knows me…"

When he finished, he burst out laughing. "With a face like yours, you'd get laughed at no matter where you go."

Those were the words I had written in despair, each letter carved out in the dark—my only anchor. Now they had become the evening's entertainment.

I looked at the relatives enjoying themselves on the sofa. At Natalie, who casually handed me a glass of water as if nothing had happened. At my parents, whose warning gazes silently told me not to make a scene.

I let go of the suitcase handle. "Fine. I'll go prep the vegetables."

As I turned and walked into the kitchen, my aunt's voice boomed from outside, "That's more like it. A girl shouldn't be so stubborn. If you're not pretty, you should at least work harder. Maybe then someone will be willing to marry you."

My mother chimed in, "A husband? Her? Pigs would fly before anyone actually wants her!"

I turned on the tap. Cold water rushed over my hands.

I did not do anything. I just stood at the sink, staring out the window.

'Two and a half hours left.'