But I’m the youngest, the last.

I have no room to fall.

When my parents talked to me about taking her place, I didn’t argue or push back. I knew it was a possibility the day they sat us down to tell us Monti had become a tool of negotiations—they worded it differently, but we understood it for what it was.

My sister and I are similar in many ways, and polar opposites in others. She is a ball of feelings and vulnerability where I am not. She’s all about finding her soul mate, running from one to the next on her way, where I can’t fathom why anyone would ever wish to fall victim to emotions they can’t control.

Simply stated, the girl is a mess, and it doesn’t help that country is her music genre of choice. In my opinion, that was her downfall. I mean, can anyone honestly listen to a single country song without daydreaming or crying or having a literal mental breakdown? If they say yes, I’d call them a liar. Monti has that shit on repeat.

We do share a desire for excitement. The difference is I can rein mine in, she can’t. Hers is driven by love and romance and thinking about such things makes me want to vomit.

When my mom crushed her spirit without batting a lash, we all silently suspected the ancient saying would ring true when it came to my whimsical sister.

There’s no such thing as a sure thing.

She proved their safety measures right, and so the backup plan was in full effect—I was on the next plane home.

Growing up, my parents were unlike any of the others I remember. While they could enjoy a night or weekend out like Cali and Jules did, they weren’t concerned with social order or country clubs and would rather be working than all else, including hanging out with me or my sister.

They would preach the importance of education, of independent thinking and demanded we stand up for ourselves where others were concerned. Nobody was to take us for weak, and what made us even stronger was our understanding of the world we lived in, one where our parents knew best.

And they do.

My mother came from the south side with nothing and now owns a forty-four-story skyscraper.

The day of my flight back to California, my mom drove me to the airport herself and left me with what she called her ‘wistful notion.’ I was instructed to ‘sow my wild oats’ as my old-school mother put it—gross, coming from her.