“She deserves it more, honey,” Mom said, without even looking up from the fancy cupcakes she was placing on a tiered stand. “Helen’s always focused more on her studies. You’ve always had other interests.”
That sentence hit harder than a slap.
I was standing in our kitchen, holding my medical school diploma, still new and shining in its frame, trying to understand what she had just said.
“Mom, we both graduated with honors. We had the exact same GPA,” I said, keeping my voice calm, even though my hands were shaking. “Why would you and Dad pay off all of Helen’s student loans, but not mine?”
Mom sighed and finally looked at me. Her face had that same tired, disappointed look I knew too well.
“Your sister doesn’t have a rich mentor like Dr. Barcel. You’ve always had advantages she didn’t.”
I almost laughed.
Dr. Judith Barcie was my research adviser because I worked for it. I earned that spot by putting in 72-hour weeks in the lab while Helen was off skiing in Gunnison with her parents.
The so-called advantage they mentioned was me working myself to exhaustion while my twin sister got all their emotional and financial support.
“So, I’m being punished for finding my own opportunities,” I asked, trying not to let the pain show in my voice.
Just then, Dad walked in and put his arm around Mom.
“No one’s punishing you, Rachel. We’re just being realistic. Your sister needs more help than you do. You’ve always figured things out on your own.”
Resourceful.
That was their favorite word. The excuse they used for missing every one of my college research presentations, but flying across the country for Helen’s volleyball games.
It was also the reason Helen got a new car for her 22nd birthday while I got a gas station gift card.
Tomorrow was the big party to celebrate Helen being debt-free. Mom and Dad planned it. Of course, they invited our whole extended family, her friends, and even some of our old professors.
The invitation said, “Celebrating Helen’s achievement,” like finishing med school without debt had been her own success, not just the result of our parents’ money.
“I need to go,” I said, finally picking up my bag. “I have an early shift at the hospital tomorrow.”
“Will you still come to Helen’s party?” Mom asked.
She sounded a little worried, not about me, but about how my not being there might affect Helen’s big day.
“I’ll be there,” I said, even though the thought made me feel sick.
As I walked to my car, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Dr. Richi.
Need to speak with you urgently about the Patterson Fellowship. Big news.
I stared at the screen. A cold feeling washed over me.
My parents’ favoritism wasn’t just hurtful anymore. It was about to become embarrassing for everyone, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Helen and I had been going in different directions since the day we were born. I came first. She followed 7 minutes later.
Our family liked to say I was calm and quiet while Helen came out crying strong and loud. Maybe that was the start of everything.
Growing up in Indianapolis, Helen was the social twin. She made friends easily and did well in sports. I was quieter. I spent most of my time in the library reading about everything from stars to animals.
Our parents went to all of Helen’s soccer games and dance shows. When I won science fairs, they just said, “Good job, Rachel,” and gave me a pat on the head.
By the time we were in high school, this pattern was set.
When we both said we wanted to be doctors, our parents were thrilled for Helen. For me, they had serious talks about whether I could handle it.
“Medical school isn’t just for smart people, Rachel,” my dad had said. “It takes real drive and strength. Helen has always pushed herself more.”
That comment hurt.
I had worked hard all through college at Indiana State. I kept a perfect GPA and worked part-time to pay my bills.
Helen, on the other hand, struggled with classes like organic chemistry and physics. Our parents hired tutors for her without question.
When she had to retake the MCAT, they paid for a top prep course. When I scored in the 98th percentile on my first try, they just nodded and said, “That’s nice, dear.”
Even with all of this, I didn’t hate Helen. She was my sister, my twin, and I loved her.
She didn’t ask for our parents to treat her better. She just happened to be the one they favored.
Sometimes I even thought she felt awkward about it, but she never said anything.
We both got into the same medical school in Oklahoma. For 5 years, we studied side by side, helped each other through tough times, and celebrated every little win together.
I thought maybe our parents would finally see us as equal. But instead, they found new ways to make Helen’s success look bigger and mine smaller.
When I was chosen to present my research at a national conference, Helen happened to get a community service award that same weekend. Guess which event our parents chose to attend.
But things changed in our final year of medical school.