I usually roll my eyes whenever she says it, but if given the choice, I’m not sure I’d pick a different life. A six-figure salary, stock options, a house in Los Gatos—sure, it all sounds nice, but it would also bring on a whole new slew of marital problems. (Parisa’s parents didn’t speak for weeks when Reza bought a Tesla without consulting Fereshteh.) The biggest upside would be having a sibling. Someone I could turn to right now, and we could shake our heads in unison and sigh.

God, they’re so annoying sometimes, we’d agree. At least we have each other.

My moms always knew they wanted kids—probably to heal the wound from being abandoned by their own families—but they also knew they wouldn’t be able to afford more than one child. They let science dictate their fate. Julia’s eggs and uterus won out in the end, so she’s my bio mom. And Parisa’s been my surrogate sister that’s filled the void felt by most only children. Well, now she’s my surrogate sister that I can’t see in person because a fatal virus could kill us both.

Instead of carrying and birthing a baby, Elena enrolled at San José State and got a BS in business. A degree she’s still paying off. Which makes it all the more ridiculous that at this very moment, they’re agreeing that dipping into my college fund yet again is not an option. How is one even expected to save money for their child’s college education when they’re still paying off their own student loans? The system is broken. Sometimes I think we need to burn it all down and start over.

“We promised ourselves we wouldn’t touch that money again,” I hear Julia say. “I never got to go to school, and I’ve regretted it my whole life. I don’t want that for Gabriela.”

It’s a low blow, but Julia is full of those when she’s upset. Though I’m not sure she would have said it if she knew I wasn’t wearing my headphones and could hear every word coming from their bedroom. The argument confirms a nagging fear: that for one mom, I’m a living embodiment of the dreams she didn’t get to pursue. And for another mom, I’m a living reminder of the perfect biological child she never had. They’ve made so many sacrifices for me, and though it’s never been verbalized, I know that I have to repay them by making something of myself. Failure is not an option. Neither is painting for a living or taking the road less traveled. I’m willing to bet that most people who choose a bohemian lifestyle grew up with money.