MY SISTER COULDN’T STAND SEEING OUR DAUGHTERS MATCH
PART 1
My four-year-old daughter and my six-year-old niece arrived at Sunday dinner wearing almost the same dress.
Everyone thought it was adorable.
Everyone except my sister.
Mia was wearing a pale-blue dress with tiny white flowers.
I had bought it on clearance two weeks earlier.
It was nothing expensive.
Nothing designer.
Just a dress Mia had loved because the little flowers reminded her of the ones growing beside our apartment building.
Twenty minutes after we arrived at my mother’s house, my sister Vanessa walked in with her daughter Sophie.
Sophie was wearing almost the same shade of blue.
Her dress had white flowers too.
She also wore a white cardigan and a matching bow in her hair.
Mia noticed immediately.
Her entire face lit up.
“Mommy, Sophie looks like me!”
She ran across the living room.
Sophie looked down at both dresses.
Then she laughed.
“We match!”
The girls grabbed hands.
They spun in circles until their skirts lifted around their knees.
My aunt Carol smiled.
She pulled out her phone.
“Look at those two.”
“They could almost be twins.”
“They are not twins,” Vanessa said sharply.
The room went quiet.
Mia stopped spinning.
Sophie looked at her mother.
Vanessa’s jaw was tight.
I had seen that expression before.
I had been seeing it for years.
Vanessa was three years older than me.
Growing up, she had always been the child my mother described as special.
She was the first daughter.
The first grandchild.
The first to get married.
The first to buy a house.
The first to have a baby.
When Sophie was born, that special status seemed to pass directly to her.
For two years, Sophie was the only grandchild.
My mother adored her.
So did I.
Then Mia was born.
I never expected that to become a problem.
But it did.
At first, the signs were small.
If both girls reached for the same stuffed animal, Mom would say.
“Mia, let Sophie have it.”
If someone brought them matching toys, Sophie got to choose the color first.
If Mia received a compliment, Vanessa would somehow redirect the conversation.
“She’s cute, but Sophie was talking in full sentences at that age.”
If Mia did well at something, Vanessa compared it to whatever Sophie had done earlier.
When Mia learned to write her name, Vanessa reminded everyone Sophie had done that before kindergarten.
When Mia started swimming lessons, Vanessa talked about how Sophie had already moved into the advanced group.
When Mia wore a red coat one winter, Vanessa accused me of copying the coat Sophie had worn the year before.
I laughed it off.
Mostly because the alternative was admitting something ugly.
My sister was jealous of a child.
My child.
My mother always defended her.
“She’s sensitive.”
“She likes Sophie to have her own identity.”
“You know how competitive Vanessa is.”
“Just don’t make a big deal out of it.”
So I learned not to make a big deal out of it.
That was my mistake.
That Sunday, Vanessa followed me into the dining room.
She waited until the girls were out of earshot.
Then she said.
“Change Mia’s dress.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I actually smiled because I thought she was joking.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“No.”
“I really don’t.”
“She looks exactly like Sophie.”
“They’re wearing similar dresses.”
“They’re children.”
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Copy us.”
I stared at her.
“You think I somehow knew what Sophie was going to wear today?”
“You pay attention.”
“To what?”
“To everything I do.”
I almost laughed.
“Vanessa, I bought Mia’s dress two weeks ago.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means exactly what I just said.”
“There’s another outfit in Mia’s bag.”
I frowned.
“How do you know?”
“Mom told me.”
Of course she had.
I always kept a change of clothes for Mia because she was four.
Spills happened.
Mud happened.
Juice happened.
Vanessa pointed toward the hallway.
“Change her before dinner.”
“No.”
Her expression hardened.
“Rachel.”
“No.”
“She doesn’t need to change.”
Vanessa lowered her voice.
“You know Sophie doesn’t like sharing attention.”
I stared at her.
“Sophie is delighted.”
Vanessa said nothing.
“The only person upset is you.”
Her face changed.
“You always have to make Mia equal to Sophie.”
That sentence landed strangely.
I thought I had misunderstood it.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I stepped closer.
“They are equal.”
Vanessa gave me a cold smile.
“That’s exactly the problem.”
For a moment, I had no words.
Then she said.
“There’s another dress in the bag.”
“Change her.”
“No.”
“Then don’t complain when this becomes a problem.”
I should have listened more carefully to that warning.
Not because I should have obeyed her.
Because she was telling me exactly what kind of person she had become.
