Chapter 2: Blending In

Since I was a kid, I’ve always been the least noticeable among my three brothers.

At school assemblies, Derek was front and center, shaking hands with the principal. Caleb was always off collecting science trophies. Me? I hung back, blended into the wallpaper. Mom used to joke I could walk through a parade and nobody would spot me.

In sports, I can’t compare to Derek; in academics, I fall short of Caleb.

Every little league season, Dad showed up for Derek’s games, yelling from the stands. Caleb’s debate medals took over the living room shelves. My participation ribbons? Stuffed in a shoebox under my bed.

So, no matter what, Dad always seems to forget about me.

At home, I’d watch Dad pass my bedroom door, briefcase in hand, calling out for Derek or Caleb. Sometimes I wondered if he even remembered which room was mine. I used to leave my sneakers in the hallway, just to see if he’d notice. He never did.

I’m perfectly content with this easy life, often hanging out at home with my mom, Carol.

Mom and I had a quiet rhythm—lazy afternoons on the saggy sofa, the two of us splitting takeout pizza, reruns of Jeopardy in the background. The smell of microwaved popcorn hung in the air, and the cushions were molded to our shapes from years of lazy Sundays. She never pushed, just let me be. I liked that.

Her background isn’t flashy—she was the one who remembered everyone’s birthday at the law firm, the first to bring in donuts on Fridays.

Back in the day, she kept the office running—overworked, underpaid, and trusted by Grandma Lillian for everything. Funny how things work out.

Dad only dated her once, and that’s how I came to be.

It wasn’t some grand love story. More like one late night, two lonely people, and a little too much bourbon at a staff party. That’s real family history for you.

So, the other women in Dad’s life look down on her, thinking she has neither connections nor looks, just lucked into a son and a seat at the table.

They call her ‘plain Carol’ behind her back, like being ordinary is a crime. They throw side-eye at holiday dinners, whispering about how she landed herself at the President’s table.

Even her name is plain: Carol—just Carol, nothing fancy.

She never added an extra ‘e’ or a French twist. She signs her name in careful block letters, keeps her holiday cards simple, never one for show.

But my mom doesn’t mind at all. She has her own philosophy:

If you ask her, she’ll tell you: “Carol means: you do your best, but fate decides the rest.”

As the daughter of a county clerk, to work for Grandma Lillian and then have a son with the President—

That’s a lifetime’s worth of surprises, as she’d say. She still has her father’s nameplate in a drawer, reminding herself where she came from.

Isn’t that already a blessing?

She says it often—usually when the bills are paid, the plants are thriving, and there’s fresh bread on the table. “Isn’t this enough?”

Enough is enough—push your luck too far, and fate will cut you short. Take too much, and life will snatch it back.

She’d waggle her finger and say, "Don’t push your luck, kiddo. Life’s a poker game—sometimes you just gotta know when to cash out."

So, she pays no mind to the gossip, always cheerful, tending her garden and her houseplants in her own little apartment.

Her window ledge is crowded with African violets and spider plants. Neighbors drop by for coffee, and she sends them home with fresh cookies. If she ever minds the whispers, she never lets it show.

She never fights for attention, never tries to make alliances with the other women. She may seem a bit scatterbrained, but her heart is calm and at peace.

She’s the kind of woman who’ll lose her keys three times a week, but never her smile. When the other women start their sniping, she shrugs and checks the weather app, unfazed.

Growing up with her influence, I too developed a laid-back and easygoing temperament.

Most of my childhood memories are just us two, slow and steady. While Derek chased trophies and Caleb memorized presidents, I learned to enjoy quiet. Mom taught me patience by example.

Derek and Caleb both see me as no threat to the family legacy, so they’re both friendly with me.

At family reunions, they’d slap my back, joke about my love for napping, never worried I’d steal their thunder. I guess I made life simpler for everyone.

After all, someone has to play the underdog to make them look good.

And let’s be real—every hero needs a sidekick, every race needs a last-place finisher to make the winner shine.

I’m happy with that—no matter who takes over, I’ll still be a part of the family.

I get to eat at the big table, show up in all the Christmas photos, and dodge the heavy lifting. Not a bad deal.

At that point, with no big responsibilities and no burdens to bear, all I have to do is enjoy life, hang out, and have fun—what could be better?

Netflix marathons, backyard barbecues, the occasional fishing trip with Mom—sometimes happiness is just not having to try so damn hard.