I sent the screenshot into the family group chat.

「Saturday afternoon, I have to go to the neighboring city for my evaluation.」

It was a few minutes before the mother replied:

「Didn't you already turn in your work?」

「That was only the first screening.」

「In the morning you can take Constance to her fitting first, done by eleven.」

「The neighboring city's only forty minutes by train. You'll make it, right?」

I'd already checked the schedule.

Depart 11:12, arrive 12:00.

Then a bus transfer to the studio, forty minutes at the least.

As long as the fitting didn't drag, I'd barely make it.

But every single time in the past, the half hour the mother promised turned into two or three hours.

I wrote back:

「I have to be at the station by eleven. I can't go in the morning.」

At dinner, the mother slid Saturday's schedule under the glass on the dining table.

After my name it still said:

「available all day」.

I picked up a pen, crossed it out, and wrote in “11:12, train”.

The mother saw it and frowned.

「You're free in the morning anyway. What's the harm in going with your sister?」

「The final round is a hands-on test. I need to prepare ahead of time.」

The father asked:

「How much does the studio pay a month?」

「Forty-two hundred during the trial period, room included.」

「You'd travel all that way for four thousand? You can't learn it at a tailor shop here in town?」

「There's no pattern-making position here.」

「It's all making clothes. How different can it be?」

I didn't explain again.

In this house, whether I studied fashion design or sat on some street corner swapping out zippers made no real difference.

As long as I could hold a needle and save the family money, it counted as putting my education to use.

The doorbell rang.

Aunt Marlene came in carrying that coat with the split seam.

She heard us talking about my job and let out a laugh:

「What kind of good job can a vocational-school grad even land? Four thousand and change, and traveling out of town on top of it. That won't even cover rent and food.」

「Wouldn't it be so much better for Deidre to stay home?」

「She can alter clothes, and she can make Constance's costumes too.」

The mother's face went hard at once.

「Deidre earned a scholarship every semester, and her teacher recommended her for this job.」

The father set down his chopsticks too.

「A low starting salary is perfectly normal for a new grad.」

「She trained in pattern-making, not in patching up people's cuffs.」

Aunt Marlene looked a little awkward and pushed the coat toward me.

「I never said she wasn't good. So fix this one for me while you're at it. That's fine, isn't it?」

The mother put her hand on the coat first.

「She's got her evaluation these next few days. Take it to a shop and get it done.」

After Aunt Marlene left, the mother was still angry.

「Her own daughter's been out of school two years without a real job, and she has the nerve to talk about you.」

The father looked at me:

「Relatives say ugly things. Don't take it to heart.」

「We know how capable you are.」

I held my chopsticks, and my throat suddenly went tight.

It wasn't that they didn't love me.

When outsiders looked down on me, they got angry, they spoke up for me, they remembered I'd won scholarships.

But the mother's next words were:

「So you should be all the more understanding.」

「Constance can't do without you.」

That little bit of warmth slowly went cold.

They wouldn't let anyone else treat me as a free seamstress.

But in this house, my time was still theirs to use for free.

Constance set down her chopsticks.

「Mom, I can go by myself.」

「No one at a shop is as careful as your sister.」

「Then I'll learn to speak up.」

The mother ignored her and just stuck the schedule back onto the fridge.

A while later, I went to get some water.

The “11:12” had already been wiped away.

After my name it now read:

「9:00 fitting with Constance, 12:00 take Justin shoe shopping.」

The final evaluation was written all the way at the edge, with a question mark after it.

On that paper, everyone's business had a fixed time.

Only my future could be moved around.

I called the studio.

They said the final round started for everyone at once, that being fifteen minutes late meant disqualification, and there was no rescheduling.

The mother heard from the kitchen.

「If it can't be moved, then forget it. There'll be other chances later.」

「This is the last batch this year.」

She paused.

「Then do whatever you want.」

It sounded like she was handing the choice back to me.

But at ten that night, she still came in with four outfits in her arms.

「Tomorrow's the reshoot. Iron all of these. And do Constance's hair for her.」

「I need to check my work.」

「How long does ironing clothes take?」

I looked at her.

「Mom, I'm not going to the fitting tomorrow.」

She stood there a few seconds, then gathered up the clothes.

「Fine.」

「All grown up now, and none of this family's business has anything to do with you anymore.」

On Saturday morning, my mother still knocked.

"Deidre, get up. Constance's fitting is at eight thirty."

I was already washed and dressed, checking my portfolio bag.

"I'm not going."

She saw the backpack by the bed, and her face slowly changed.

"Didn't we agree yesterday, you'd go with your sister first?"

"You agreed."

My father came out of the master bedroom.

"Don't start fighting this early. Go the second the fitting shop opens, get it done, then leave."

"I won't make it."

"It's a forty-minute train. What's the rush?"

"Fifteen minutes late and you're disqualified."

Constance ran out of her room, hair still loose.

"Mom, I'm not doing the fitting."

"My old dress fits fine."

My mother turned to look at her.

"The waist's still loose. What if it slips on stage?"

"The clerk can take it in."

"It's your first solo. Can't you take it seriously?"

Then she looked at me again.

"Deidre, it's your sister's first time in a solo. Can't you help her just this once?"

I didn't answer.

She was seven the first time she went on stage, and I was the one who sewed on her sequins.

Ten the first time she competed at the city level, and I was the one taking in her waistband backstage.

Last month, the first time she switched dance teachers, I was the one who ran to three studios with her.

Every one of them counts as a first.

Because anything to do with my sister is worth the whole family recalculating.

And anything to do with me can be canceled at any time.

"No, I can't."

I shouldered my bag.

My mother's eyes went red.

"Fine. Go."

"From now on, when something in this house needs mending, don't expect anyone to come to you."

The line was meant as a punishment.

But hearing it, I felt something loosen instead.

Constance chased me to the elevator, a little sewing kit in her hands.

"Deidre, what if a seam splits on your piece. Want to take this?"

"Yes."

She pressed the box into my hand.

"Tell me how it goes."

On the way to the station, my mother called three times.

The first, to ask how many centimeters to take in my sister's waistband.

The second, to say my brother couldn't find his membership card for the sneaker store.

The third connected with no words, then hung up.

I set my phone to silent.

There were eight people at the studio for the final round.

On each table was the same white muslin and a measurement sheet. Three hours to adjust the pattern and finish a half-body sample.

When I drew the armhole, I habitually shaved the ease allowance down.

At home, the standard for a garment had always been simply that you could get into it.

Pat Estes, running the evaluation, glanced over.

"It'll bind when the arm lifts. Add the ease back."

She didn't say it was close enough. She didn't tell me to make do.

I ripped out that line and drew it again.

The finished sample wasn't my best.

The neckline lagged, and the ease on the left sleeve wasn't even enough.

Pat looked at my two-tone short jacket too.

"Why two fabrics?"

"There wasn't enough of the original. What I bought to make up for it didn't match."

"So you turned the color mismatch into structure?"

"Yes."

"The idea works. The execution's still rough. Go home and wait to hear."

No praise, no promise.

But she told me clearly what was good and what wasn't.

That already put me more at ease than a single "close enough."

The evaluation ended at five twenty.

By the time I got back to the complex, it was past seven.

There were more than a dozen new messages in the family group.

My mother had posted the reshot family portrait.

Father, Mother, brother, sister.

Four people in well-fitting new clothes, standing in a neat row.

Aunt Marlene had replied underneath:

"This one's lovely. Like a happy family of four."

My mother pushed back almost at once:

"What family of four? There are five of us."

"Deidre went to a job evaluation."

My father added a line too:

"If you can't talk, don't talk nonsense."

Aunt Marlene deleted her message and sent a smiley face instead.

Looking at those two lines of defense, my eyes suddenly went hot.

But right below them was the photographer's message:

"If you want to add the eldest daughter, I can cut her out of the last photo separately."

My mother replied:

"Sure. Try to make it blend in naturally."

Back home, the digital frame was already cycling through today's photos.

My mother had left food for me, still warm in the pot.

"Eat first. How'd it go?"

"Okay."

"Good, then."

She handed me the chopsticks, then explained:

"The photographer had other appointments after us. Everyone was already there. We couldn't make them all wait on you alone."

"You could've picked another day."

"Another day means booking all over again. Besides, they can edit you in afterward. Same effect."

It's not the same.

In front of the relatives, they'll say there are five of us.

And still think the one missing from the photo can just be added in later.

The screen switched to the next photo.

Four people standing under the lights.

Everyone's clothes fit perfectly, and no one needed to be added in.