Dinner had begun. My parents were seated at the head table with Jessica, our grandparents, and Dr. Woo. I was seated at a side table with cousins and family friends, close enough to hear the conversation without participating.
« We always knew Jessica was destined for a bright future, » my father told Dr. Woo. « Even when the girls were little, Jessica showed such determination. She was always the most ambitious of us. »
Each word was like a small dagger. I swirled my food around on my plate, my appetite gone. Nearby, Dr. Fleming sat with other professors, occasionally casting me sympathetic glances.
After dessert, my father stood up and tapped his glass to get everyone’s attention. « Thank you all for coming to celebrate our daughter Jessica’s remarkable achievement. As many of you know, medical school is a demanding journey, and graduating without debt is truly exceptional. »
The crowd applauded politely. Jessica seemed increasingly uncomfortable.
“We were fortunate to be able to support Jessica throughout her schooling,” my mother added, getting up to join my father. “We always believed in her future because we knew she would make us proud.”
I stared at my plate, tears burning and ready to fall. The words were clear: they had invested in Jessica, not in their two daughters. The message was unequivocal.
“Actually,” Jessica said suddenly, standing up, “I’d like to say something.” She looked me straight in the eye, a contrite expression on her face. “This party feels incomplete. Audrey and I graduated with the same GPA. We both worked incredibly hard, and frankly, Audrey worked even harder because she didn’t have the same support I did.”
A deathly silence fell over the crowd. My parents seemed stunned.
« Jessica, » my mother murmured, « this isn’t the time. »
« This is the perfect time, » Jessica insisted. « I cannot accept recognition that excludes my sister. It’s not fair, and it never has been. »
Emotion choked me up. After all these years, Jessica was publicly acknowledging this imbalance. It was both liberating and heartbreaking.
My father quickly recovered, his voice excessively jovial. « Of course, we’re proud of both our daughters. Audrey did very well too. But tonight, we’re celebrating the fact that Jessica is finally debt-free, which is a remarkable achievement. »
« A success that you facilitated, not that I deserved, » Jessica retorted in a calm but firm voice.
The tension in the room was palpable. The scene my parents had always dreaded was unfolding: the perfect image of their family cracking in public.
Dr. Fleming chose this moment to stand up. « If I may add something to this conversation, » she said in an authoritative voice that rose above the murmurs, « it seems appropriate to share some news concerning Audrey, of whom many of you may be unaware. »
My parents exchanged worried glances.
“Audrey’s research on neurovascular regeneration earned her the Patterson Fellowship at Johns Hopkins University,” announced Dr. Fleming. “As a reminder, this is the most prestigious fellowship offered to a newly graduated medical student in the United States. It includes full student loan forgiveness and a substantial stipend.”
Murmurs and exclamations of surprise rippled through the room. Dr. Woo was looking at me with newfound interest; my cousins were whispering excitedly.
“In fact,” Dr. Fleming continued, “the selection committee specifically mentioned Audrey’s innovative dual-approach methodology, which she developed largely independently while also completing a comprehensive clinical rotation program. I have had the privilege of mentoring many promising physicians, but I have rarely encountered such a level of dedication and insight as Audrey consistently demonstrates.”
The room erupted in applause – sincere and enthusiastic applause for me. People turned to look at me, smiling and nodding their heads respectfully.
My parents froze, their expressions a mixture of shock, confusion, and burgeoning horror as they realized the carefully constructed narrative surrounding their daughters was publicly crumbling. Jessica smiled at me, without the slightest trace of jealousy.
Dr. Fleming wasn’t finished yet. « Furthermore, I am pleased to announce that I have personally arranged for the balance of Audrey’s medical school loans to be covered by our department’s merit scholarship fund—a decision unanimously approved by the board of directors in recognition of her outstanding contribution to our research program. »
I too was debt-free, and I had well deserved it.
After Dr. Fleming’s announcement, the atmosphere changed dramatically. Professors who had previously focused on Jessica now approached me, showing interest in my research and congratulating me on my grant. Several of my clinical supervisors shared glowing anecdotes about my work with patients, which I hadn’t even realized they had noticed.
My parents remained seated at their table, the shock still visible on their faces. They weren’t just processing the news of my scholarship and my exclusive pardon; they were witnessing the collapse of the narrative they had constructed around their daughters. The quiet, independent twin they had always ignored was now the object of professional admiration.
Jessica approached me, a glass of champagne in her hand. « Congratulations, sis, » she said, clinking glasses with me. « The Patterson scholarship is incredible! Why didn’t you tell me? »
« I only found out this morning, » I said, « and I didn’t want to spoil your party. »
Jessica frowned. « This ridiculous party was Mom and Dad’s idea, not mine. I tried to tell them it was excessive and unfair to you, but you know how they are once they’ve made up their minds. »
« You did it? » I asked, surprised.
« Of course. » Jessica sounded hurt. « Audrey, I always knew they treated us differently. I… I didn’t know how to fix things without making them worse. »
Before I could reply, Dr. Margaret Woo approached us. « Dr. Collins, » she said, looking me straight in the eye, « I was very impressed by Dr. Fleming’s report on your research. We should discuss the possibility of you presenting your work in our neurosurgery department rather than at Johns Hopkins. »
I blinked in surprise. « That’s very flattering, Dr. Woo, but… »
“She’s already accepted the Patterson Fellowship,” Jessica interjected, proudly putting her arm around my shoulders. “It’s a unique opportunity, Unity. But you should know that my sister is never satisfied with just one groundbreaking thing at a time. I bet she’ll already have another innovative study underway just a few months after arriving in Baltimore.”
Dr. Woo smiled. « Well, once you’ve finished your residency, think about Detroit. We’d be delighted to have you. » She nodded to Jessica. « Both of you, in your respective specialties. »
After he left, I turned to Jessica, stunned. « You didn’t have to do that. I know you wanted to stay in Detroit for your internship. »
« And I can still do it, » Jessica said. « But I won’t do it by letting Mom and Dad manipulate the situation or deprive you of opportunities. That’s not who I want to be. »
On the other side of the room, I saw my parents finally get up from the table and hesitantly walk towards us. Their steps were slow, interrupted by guests who wanted to talk about me – a new experience that was clearly unsettling them.
« Here they are, » Jessica murmured. « Ready? »
« Not really, » I admitted.
“Dr. Fleming spoke highly of you,” my father said when they finally joined us, his tone carefully modulated to sound proud while masking his confusion. “The Patterson Fellowship… that’s a great honor. Why didn’t you tell us you were being considered for such a prestigious award?” my mother asked, a hint of accusation in her voice.
« Would that have changed anything? » I asked gently. « You made it clear where your support and interests lay. »
My parents exchanged embarrassed glances.
« That’s not fair, Audrey, » my father began.
“We’ve always supported you differently,” my mother quickly interjected. “We’ve supported you differently because you had different needs.”
Jessica shook her head. « Mom, Dad, we’re not going to do that tonight. But we’re going to have a real conversation about this soon. All together. » She gave me a meaningful look. « No more pretending. »
Dr. Fleming appeared at my side, sparing me the need to answer. « Audrey, the dean would like to speak with you—it’s about highlighting your scholarship in the alumni magazine. » She smiled at my parents, her expression kind but her gaze sharp. « You must be incredibly proud to have raised two such brilliant daughters—and I imagine it’s especially gratifying to see Audrey’s hard work recognized after everything she’s overcome. »
The emphasis on overcoming was subtle but undeniable. My parents were tactful enough to look embarrassed.
« Well, » my mother said weakly, « we always knew Audrey was special, too. »
Too little, too late.
The week following the celebration was pivotal. News of my Patterson Fellowship spread throughout Detroit’s medical community, and suddenly, doors that had remained closed to me opened. Former professors who had granted Jessica extensions but denied me were now sending congratulatory emails. Classmates who had barely noticed me during my four years of medical school were suddenly boasting of being close friends.
Meanwhile, my parents were trying to limit the damage. They showed up at my apartment the day after the party with gift bags and forced smiles.
« We’ve been thinking about it, » my father said, placing a small box on my coffee table. « Since you’ve both graduated and are starting your careers, we felt we had to give you something special. Here’s what we came up with. »
Inside was a rose gold watch, identical to the one they had given Jessica for her birthday six months earlier.
« It’s charming, » I said without touching it, « even if it’s a little late. »
My mother flinched. « Audrey, we know you must sometimes feel neglected, but everything we did was because we knew you could handle difficulties on your own. Jessica needed more support. »
“That’s a convenient explanation,” I replied calmly. “But it doesn’t explain why you attended her presentations and skipped mine. Why you paid for her MCAT preparation and advised me to use free online resources. Why you covered her living expenses during her medical studies and suggested I take out additional loans for mine.”
« We don’t have enough money, Audrey, » my father protested. « We had to make some choices. »
« Yes, you did, » I agreed. « And you always chose Jessica. »
My mother’s eyes filled with tears. « We love you both equally, » she insisted.
« Perhaps so, » I conceded, « but you haven’t treated us equally—and watches and belated acknowledgments won’t change that. »
The phone rang: it was Dr. Fleming calling to talk about my upcoming move to Baltimore. I answered with relief, looking away from the astonished faces of my parents.
“Yes, I’m available to discuss housing options,” I said on the phone. “Actually, this is perfect timing.”
Three weeks later, I stood in my empty apartment. The last box was packed and ready for the move. Jessica sat on the windowsill and watched me tape down the last box of books.
« I still can’t believe you’re leaving next week, » she said. « Detroit will never be the same without you. »
« You’re probably too busy with your internship to notice my absence, » I joked, even though it was partly true. We had been inseparable during our medical studies, but our paths were finally diverging: mine to Johns Hopkins, hers to stay at the Detroit hospital.
“I keep thinking about what Mom and Dad did,” Jessica said suddenly. “Or rather, what they didn’t do. All these years, I thought I was the luckiest because they paid more attention to me, but in reality, they held me back, making me dependent on their approval.”
I sat down next to her on the windowsill. « You haven’t done anything wrong, Jess. »
“I didn’t do well enough either,” she retorted. “I should have spoken up sooner.” She sighed. “They’re devastated, you know. Mom never stops crying and saying you must hate them. Dad tells anyone who will listen about his brilliant daughter’s achievements at Johns Hopkins, as if he personally funded your research.”
“Let them do as they please,” I told myself, surprised to find how little it bothered me now. “Their approval no longer defines me.” And it was true. The constant need for validation from parents who would never truly see me had finally subsided. Dr. Fleming’s mentorship had shown me what real support was: pushing me to excel when I needed it, standing up for me when I needed protection, and always, always seeing my potential without reservation.
« And now, what’s going to happen? » Jessica asked. « With us, I mean. »
I took her hand. « We will find our own way, without the competition they have created between us. »
« I’d love that, » Jessica smiled, shaking my hand. « Dr. Audrey Collins, Patterson Fellow. I’m so proud of you, sister. »
For the first time in years, I felt complete inner peace. The path ahead was fraught with obstacles but clear, and I had complete freedom to chart it as I pleased.
I moved into Baltimore on a humid Sunday, the air thick with the faint scent of rain and bay. The townhouse I rented in Canton had brick walls that trapped the summer heat and a narrow staircase that made carrying boxes seem endless. A neighbor, Elaine, knocked on my door twenty minutes after the movers had left, with a plate of cookies and the business card of her cousin, a trusted locksmith. « City rule, » she told me. « Change your locks and learn your streets. »
Onboarding at Johns Hopkins was a whirlwind of ID badges, security briefings, and a tour of the lab where I would be spending most of my time. Dr. Vivien Fleming introduced me to the principal investigators with surgical precision, as if she were arranging pieces on a chessboard. “This is Dr. O’Neal,” she said, pointing to a stocky man with a watchful gaze. “He pioneered the microvascular grafting model you cited on page nineteen. And this is Dr. Reyes, who will try to lure you into neuromodulation experiments at least once a week. Let her. You’ll refuse if it doesn’t contribute to our research.”
Work. My project had a lengthy title, worthy of a grant proposal summary: “Dual-Path Neurovascular Regeneration After Childhood Head Injury.” But in reality, it was simply about trying to help injured children heal better and faster. Mornings were spent in the animal lab, afternoons on imaging and data, and evenings on revisions that always seemed unfinished. At night, I walked along the inner harbor under the strings of lights, the water as black as velvet, and I reminded myself that, from the outside, solitude and the meaning of life often look like two peas in a pod.
Jessica called after her first 28-hour shift as an intern at Detroit Medical Center. « I cried in the stairwell, » she confessed, her voice catching. « A senior doctor then handed me a granola bar and told me to cry faster. »
« Welcome to my residence, » I said, sitting down on the front steps. A siren wailed in the street, like a second voice. « What happened? »
“Everything,” she said. “Consultations piling up like a game of Jenga, a septic patient whose condition was constantly deteriorating, a child in the throes of an asthma attack who kept calling me ‘Dr. Jess’ as if I knew exactly how to solve every problem in the universe. I signed my first death certificate. No one teaches your hands how to move when a mother looks at them as if they were gods.”
« Your hands learned to move long before tonight, » I said. « You learned to hold them still for four years. You’ll learn the rest, one night at a time. »
She laughed, a tired but genuine laugh. « Say something about the Patterson scholarship that’s enough for me to hate you for ten seconds and then start loving you again. »
« Now I label my Petri dishes perfectly straight, » I remarked. « That’s my superpower. »
« Boastful, » she said, and hung up to answer a call.
On the second Friday of my stay in Baltimore, Dr. Fleming slid a stack of forms onto her desk. “You are officially the lead analyst for Cohort A,” she told me. “It’s more of an administrative chore than a source of great pride, but it means the committee has confidence in your intelligence.” Then, in a gentler voice, she added, “Your intelligence isn’t the only thing we need, Audrey. Take care of your sleep. Call your sister. Call your therapist if you feel the need. Excellence without the human element is just a paperweight.”
I nodded, trying not to make a joke. I had spent so many years proving that I was capable of rising to challenges that I sometimes forgot to be myself.
Two weeks later, a thick envelope arrived from the house. My parents had mailed printed photos from Jessica’s party, as if the evening would look better on glossy paper. I was there, slightly off-center in each photo, smiling politely while my parents steered the conversation back to Jessica with the dexterity of seasoned surgeons. Tucked among the photos was a handwritten note from my mother, in her cursive script: « We are so proud of our two daughters. Shall we have dinner when you get home? Kisses, Mom. » Below it, in my father’s neat handwriting: « Very proud. Dad. »
I slipped the note into a drawer along with Elaine’s locksmith card and left the photos on the table until the edges curled.
The first child I included in our study was a boy named Theo, who was passionate about space documentaries and had a crippling fear of needles. His mother asked pointed questions, typical of online research: « How many children have already undergone this protocol? What are your predefined evaluation criteria? Has the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) raised any concerns regarding the pharmacological component? »
I answered each of their questions, grateful for the hours spent with the ethics committee. Once the interview was over, she sighed and said, « I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. Last month has completely changed me. »
« I think they call her ‘a mother’, » I said. We signed. Théo flinched when the blood was drawn, then listed the moons of Jupiter in order.
That evening, Jessica sent me a photo taken in a break room where interns, in rumpled scrubs, were eating cold pizzas straight from the box on the floor. Her caption read: « Nobody told me the mozzarella would be traumatized. » I replied with a photo of the lights at Inner Harbor and the caption: « Nobody told me the lights would look like electrocardiogram tracings. »
For the first time since high school, our lives were running parallel again. We sent each other small signs of survival: cups of coffee, the sunrise filtering through the garage slats, the lab’s whiteboard covered in multicolored equations. The chasm our parents had created between us was closing not through grand gestures, but through carefully aligned, ordinary days.
At the end of September, Jessica called from the car parked in front of our parents’ house in Cleveland. « They want to throw a banquet for our two daughters, » she said, making air quotes with her fingers so loudly I could hear them. « A second time, basically. They booked the university club. There’ll be salmon and vows of repentance. »
« What do you want to do? » I asked.
« I want to refuse and go, » she said. « I’m tired of singing harmonies for them, but I don’t want to miss this one chance they’re giving us to say the words we needed to say at twelve years old. »
« Then go ahead, » I said. « Under certain conditions. »
We emailed a list that evening. No banners with a single name. No separate head table. No emphatic speeches. If a presentation included a resume, both resumes would be read from the same card by the same person into the same microphone.
My mother replied the next morning with a simple sentence: We agree on everything.
I didn’t believe her, not entirely. In our family, love had always had its limits.
The university club had such thin carpet that footsteps seemed to whisper apologies. A harpist, in a corner, played tunes that were only recognizable at the end. Place cards indicated the name of each table. On ours, we could read « Dr. Jessica Collins » and « Dr. Audrey Collins » in identical print, side by side.
Aunt Patty hugged me so tightly I almost popped my pimples. « Don’t make a scene, » she whispered in my ear, like people sometimes say « I love you. » « And if you do, make sure your lipstick stays perfect. »
Jessica shook my hand under the tablecloth. My parents approached, looking as if they were about to walk a tightrope. My mother was wearing the blue dress she puts on when she wants to appear harmless. My father had chosen the tie I had given him for his sixtieth birthday. They were doing their best.
« Thank you for coming, » said my mother. « We know… » She paused, then continued, « We’re sorry. »
It wasn’t just a speech. It wasn’t enough. It was also more than I expected.
Dinner arrived in courses served with excessive solemnity. Between the salad and the salmon, Dean Wilson rose to introduce us. He read the introductory card exactly as it was written: “Dr. Jessica Collins, future psychiatry resident at Detroit Medical Center; Dr. Audrey Collins, Patterson Fellow in neurosurgical research at Johns Hopkins.” He smiled at both of us, then added, “It is rare to celebrate one physician within the same family. It is extraordinary to celebrate two.”
That would have been a happy ending. But families, like studies, rarely lend themselves to such clear-cut conclusions.
Aunt Patty stood up. « I’m sorry, » she said, loud enough to silence the harp. « Before dessert, I have to settle a dispute. Otherwise, Mae will haunt me. »
Mae. Our grandmother. The only person who ever made Jessica and me feel like equals, without even thinking about it. Aunt Patty opened an old brown paper envelope and held up a photocopy of a letter of trust, the kind you used to write at the kitchen table, with sincere witnesses and cheap pen.
“Mae set up an education fund when the girls were born,” Aunt Patty said, her voice trembling. “Fifty-five. She couldn’t give much, but she wanted it to be fair. I found it while moving boxes last month.” She placed the paper on the head table, next to my mother’s glass of wine. “Oddly enough, the withdrawals looked more like a hundred to zero ratio. For years, I told myself I should mind my own business. Finally, I realized I should take care of my nieces.”
The room temperature changed. My mother flattened her napkin between her hands. My father chewed as if he were crunching a pebble. For a split second, I felt like laughing – not because it was funny, but because the scenario finally matched the film.
“I was planning to make up for it,” my father said, looking at me. “I thought that after these expenses, after this important step, we would find our balance again. And then life happens…”
« Life doesn’t rebalance itself, » Jessica said softly. « People do it. »
My mother’s eyes filled with tears. « We were wrong, » she said. « Not just in mathematics. In terms of attention. In terms of what we called need and what we considered resilience. »
I looked at the photocopy of our grandmother’s letter of intent, those looped letters that had always signed our birthday cards with two exclamation points. « Equal, » Mae had written, as if the word itself could be a prayer.
« I don’t need repayment plans, » I said. « I need a change in behavior. »
My father swallowed. « Describe what it looks like. »
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