I'm Jack. I'm 32 years old and I guess you could say I've always been the easy kid. You know...

Описание: I'm Jack. I'm 32 years old and I guess you could say I've always been the easy kid. You know, the type, quiet, reliable, never caused a scene, always made sure to pick up after himself. Didn't ask for much, kept his grades up, got a job early, paid his way through college, and didn't complain when things weren't fair because what would be the point, right?
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 That was me, Jack, the low maintenance son, the one you could count on, but only when it was convenient. I used to think that was something to be proud of. Now I'm not so sure. I grew up in a pretty picture perfect family from the outside, two parents, two siblings, a well manicured lawn and matching Christmas pajamas every year for the annual photo that my mom would post with the caption.

Grateful Beyond Words. My mom, Sharon, is the kind of woman who treats Instagram like a religion and appearances like gospel. My dad, Greg, mostly stayed out of the chaos, preferring his woodworking shed and ESPN to any real emotional involvement. He's the classic checked out suburban dad present, but absent, if that makes sense.

My older sister, Melanie, is 35 and has always been the center of attention, blonde, bubbly, popular, the type to throw wine nights for her ladies and use phrases like, I just feel like I'm vibing so hard this year. Then there's Ethan, my younger brother. He's 28. A bit of a golden boy in my mom's eyes, always making messes and getting praised for trying.

Even when he failed miserably, he bounced from job to job, hobby to hobby, and girlfriend to girlfriend. But Sharon always found a way to spin it as him finding himself. Meanwhile, I've been working quietly in the background for years, running a small but steadily growing tech consultancy that I built from scratch.

I own my house outright. I pay my taxes. I don't throw tantrums or show up to family dinners drunk. You'd think that would count for something. But in my family, not really. For as long as I can remember, Christmas has been Sharon's Olympics. She plans it with military precision starting in October, matching decor themes, color coded gift wrap themed menus, and of course the great unwrapping where each person opens their gifts one by one.

So Sharon can record our reactions. When we were kids, it was magical. When we were teens, it was tradition. As adults, it's more like a performative ritual where my mom plays director, audience and star. And every year I somehow manage to convince myself that this time will be different. That this time she'll see me, really see me not just as the reliable one or the quiet one, but as her son as Jack.

But Christmas of this past year, that was the year I finally snapped. It started like it always did. I arrived on the 23rd just like I was asked, not early, not late. Melanie was already there lounging on the couch in a matching loungewear set, sipping something out of a glass that clinked with ice. She greeted me with an air kiss and a distracted, Hey, you as if I was someone she vaguely remembered from high school.

Ethan showed up an hour later with his latest girlfriend, a girl named Kelsey, who wore oversized sunglasses indoors and spoke in TikTok catchphrases. Sharon had made up the guest rooms with monogram pillowcases for everyone but me. Mine just said guest. I noticed it right away, but didn't say anything. I never do.
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