Their Paradise Vacation, My Bill, Treated Like a Dog

On the way to the airport, taking my whole family to the Florida Keys for New Year’s Eve, I idly scrolled through a social media forum and a post caught my eye. “My broke relative is insisting on tagging along to our oceanfront villa for the holidays, but we just want our own family time without outsiders. Should we let her stay?” I frowned, thinking how clueless that relative must be. Crashing a family’s private holiday reunion? The nerve. The top-voted comment was pure genius, and I found myself nodding in agreement. “Book her a cheap motel far away from your place. That way, she gets the message and can’t leech off you.” When we got to the airport terminal, I shook my head, shut off my phone, and felt a private surge of satisfaction. This time, at least, I was the one footing the entire bill. But when I met up with my family, the first thing they did was shove a phone into my hand, displaying the booking confirmation for a remote motel. I recognized the name of the place instantly. It was the same one my brother had mocked in our family group chat two nights ago, the one he said “even rats would avoid.” A tremor ran through me, but I told myself it had to be a joke. It wasn’t until they all went to the restroom that I checked my brother’s backpack. Tucked away in a hidden inner pocket was another key card. On it, printed in elegant script, were the words for the villa I had booked: “Seaview Holiday Estates.”

1 I gently slid the “Seaview Holiday Estates” key card back into the hidden pocket of my brother’s backpack. As my fingers brushed against the cold plastic, my heart turned to ice. So, the “broke relative” from that forum post… it was me. I had to fight to keep my face from twitching. Don’t lose it. Not yet. A few minutes later, my brother, Ben, and my parents, Helen and Robert, returned, laughing and chatting. Ben was holding two Starbucks cups; my parents had their own warm drinks. Only my hands were empty, standing guard over four massive suitcases. “Clara, what are you spacing out for?” Ben swung his backpack onto his shoulder. It was the latest Louis Vuitton model, a birthday gift I’d bought him just last month. He glanced at me. “You got Mom’s text with the booking, right? That motel is super trendy, has a great vibe. Plus, it’s close to the airport, so it’ll be easier for you to get over your jet lag.” I looked at him, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Jet lag? There was no time difference between here and the Keys. I swallowed the disgust and feigned confusion. “Ben, this motel… I think you mentioned it in the group chat. Didn’t you say it was a place even rats would avoid? Why book it for me?” Ben’s eyes darted away for a second. “Sis, you’re so behind the times,” he said, recovering smoothly. “It’s called brutalist chic. It’s the hottest new trend, like a rustic-luxe experience. I had to pull some strings just to get you a room.” I watched him lie without batting an eye and scoffed internally. Peeling paint is brutalist chic? Then I guess a garbage dump is post-modern installation art. Before I could retort, my mother, Helen, chimed in. “That’s right! That’s what it’s called! Think about it, Clara, the villas by the sea are so damp. You’ve had bad joints since you were a kid. I was worried you’d catch a chill, so we deliberately booked you somewhere further from the water. We did it because we love you.” You love me, so you put me in a fifty-dollar-a-night death trap while my brother stays in a villa that costs thousands? I turned to my father, Robert, the only person in the family who ever seemed to take my side. He avoided my gaze and pulled a small bottle of complimentary airport water from his pocket. “Clara, listen to your mother. Your brother was just trying to save some money, this trip is a big expense, after all. This water is warm, I got it just for you. Go on, drink up.” He handed me the bottle, his face a mask of fatherly affection. The bottle was warm in my hand, but it couldn’t warm my heart. Save money? The flights, the five-star villa, the food and activities for this trip—a cool ten thousand dollars—had all come out of my bank account. And I had transferred the money to Ben to manage. Now they were talking to me about saving money? I twisted the cap and took a sip. “Alright,” I said with a nod and a smile, but my eyes were glacial. “I’ll listen to you. I’ll stay there.” Ben and Helen exchanged a look of palpable relief. They thought I was still the same old pushover, the fool who would do anything for a crumb of affection. Too bad. That fool died the moment my fingers touched that key card.

2 The departure lounge was a cacophony of voices and announcements of delayed flights. We found a row of empty seats and sat down. Helen immediately started pulling snacks from her purse and offering them to Ben, terrified her precious son might starve. “Ben, have some of this jerky. I got the spicy kind, just for you.” “Ugh, Mom, no. It gets stuck in my teeth.” Ben pushed her hand away impatiently and went back to his phone. Helen wasn’t offended. She just smiled and started eating the jerky herself, never once thinking to offer me any. The scene was so familiar it was almost numbing. I stared at the half-empty bottle of warm water in my hand, my mind drifting back in time. The year I got into college, my family bought a few large Dungeness crabs to celebrate. It was the first time we’d ever eaten something so expensive. When they were served, Helen quickly piled the largest, meatiest ones onto Ben’s and my father’s plates. By the time she got to me, all that was left was a scrawny one with a missing leg. I didn’t think much of it and reached for it. But Helen tapped the back of my hand with her chopsticks. “Girls shouldn’t eat so much ‘cooling’ food, it’s bad for your body. The roe is especially bad. I’ll scoop it out for Ben, you can just eat the meat.” Without waiting for a reply, she broke the crab open, scraped out the meager amount of roe inside, and dumped it all into Ben’s bowl. He was only ten at the time, his mouth full and his face gleaming with oil. All I got were a few skinny legs with barely any meat. I cried myself to sleep that night. My father, Robert, quietly opened my door and slipped me a hard-boiled egg. “Clara, don’t be mad at your mom. She just means well. Dad boiled an egg for you, eat it while it’s warm.” I remembered that egg for years. I always thought it was a symbol of his love. Just like this bottle of warm water. “Hey, sis, gimme your power bank.” Ben’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He held out his hand expectantly, not even looking up from his phone. I glanced at the brand-new iPhone 15 Pro Max in his hand, another gift from me. I was still using a three-year-old model with a cracked screen. “It’s dead,” I said coldly. Ben looked up, stunned. “No way. You always bring two fully charged ones whenever we go anywhere. Hurry up, I’m about to lose this game!” His voice was a demanding whine. Helen chimed in from the side. “Clara, what’s the big deal? Just let your brother use it. It’s not like you play games, what do you need the battery for?” I clenched my phone, my knuckles turning white. “I said, it’s dead.” My voice was firm, and I stared directly into Ben’s eyes. He was taken aback by my glare, muttered “stingy,” and turned away. Robert stepped in to play peacemaker again. He patted my shoulder and whispered, “Clara, don’t fight with your brother. You know him, he’s still just a kid.” A twenty-five-year-old kid? More like a man-child. I looked at my father’s face, etched with feigned helplessness, and a fresh wave of disappointment washed over me. Your love, Dad, is worthless when it comes up against Ben’s wants. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from my bank. A credit card alert for a pre-authorized charge of three hundred dollars. The location was a high-end restaurant right here in the airport. I looked up and saw Ben waving his phone at someone in the distance. Following his gaze, I saw a girl in a white dress pulling a pink suitcase, walking toward us. I knew who she was. It was Kathy, Ben’s girlfriend of three months, the one he claimed came from a very wealthy family.

3 Kathy was dressed head-to-toe in designer brands. The pink suitcase she was pulling was a limited-edition Rimowa. But the most ironic part was the Burberry scarf wrapped around her neck. I had just bought it for myself last week to wear for the holidays. It had vanished from my room two days ago. Helen told me a rat probably got it. I never realized rats grew to be this big. “Helen! Robert! Ben!” Kathy called out sweetly. My mother’s face blossomed into a wide grin as she grabbed Kathy’s hand. “Kathy, dear, you’re here! You must be tired. Sit, sit!” Ben was even more attentive, kicking my suitcase aside to make room for her. “Babe, I missed you so much.” The two of them started cuddling as if no one else was there. “Oh, Clara, you’re here too,” Kathy said, as if just noticing me, her voice dripping with fake surprise. She adjusted the scarf around her neck. “Yeah,” I said, my eyes fixed on it. Kathy seemed to notice my gaze and smiled. “Your mom is just the sweetest. She said this color looked so good on me that she insisted I take it. You don’t mind, do you, sis?” I looked at Helen. She avoided my eyes, mumbling, “Oh, that old thing. Clara barely wore it. It looks so much better on you, Kathy, so I just gave it to her.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Of course. My old rags look perfect on you.” Kathy’s face fell. Ben shot to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Clara! What the hell is that supposed to mean? What’s your problem? Kathy is our guest!” “A guest?” I sneered. “If she’s a guest, who bought her plane ticket? Who’s paying for her room?” The three-hundred-dollar charge on my card was still fresh on my phone screen. Ben looked guilty for a second but puffed out his chest. “Kathy paid her own way! And besides, so what if we spend a little money? It’s not like our family can’t afford it!” Sensing the escalating tension, Robert quickly grabbed Ben and shot me a warning look. “Clara, that’s enough. It’s the holidays, don’t make a scene.” “Fine. I won’t say another word.” I sat back down and closed my eyes. Beside me, Kathy linked her arm through Helen’s and asked, seemingly innocently, “So, Helen, is the villa big? Will there be enough room for all of us?” Helen patted her hand, her voice full of affection. “Don’t you worry, dear, it’s huge! Three large bedrooms. Your uncle and I will take one, Ben gets another, and we saved the last one—the master suite with the best view—especially for you!” My eyes snapped open. So that was it. The rooms had been assigned long before we even left. “Oh, but what about Clara?” Kathy asked, feigning concern. “Isn’t she staying at the villa? Is it because I’m here that she…” “Don’t be silly!” Helen cut her off, her tone self-righteous. “Your sister… she’s looking for an experience! She said the villas are too noisy, so she specifically chose a rustic-luxe motel to get back to nature. Right, Clara?” She stared at me, her eyes flashing a clear warning. I looked right back at her, the last thread of affection in my heart snapping. “That’s right,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Since Mom arranged everything so thoughtfully, I should definitely go and have the full experience.” “After all, you picked this special place just for me.”