by Tyler Dianne Platt.

“This is my daughter, Macy,” my dad said, gesturing to my stepsister standing by me. “And this is my other daughter, Tyler,” he said, gesturing to me; the tall, blonde who stuck out like a sore thumb. I felt like the stepdaughter, but it had always been that way.

Anywhere I went with them, the people he met all thought I was my stepsister, that I had mysteriously grown a foot taller and dyed my hair. But no, I was the other daughter. The one who wasn’t around much, not because she didn’t want to be, but because she was never invited. A small detail no one but us seemed to know.

The thing is, they even looked like family, like they belonged together. All had dark hair, about the same height and looked alike in the face. Then there was me; 5’11”, blonde and didn’t look like them at all. Fitting in with a certain crowd at school is one thing, but it was sickening to think that I didn’t even belong in my own family.

When I was little, all I knew was every Christmas, Thanksgiving and birthday I saw my “other family” Maybe some weekends, if it was convenient. I felt like the new kid who moved to a new school in the middle of the semester; I had already missed the part where everyone fell into certain groups; I was on the outskirts.

Out of all the singers, athletes and actresses in the world, I am jealous of my stepsister the most. She is the number one daughter. My dad knows all of her friends, their parents, her teachers, when every basketball game is and when she is out of school. I’m lucky if he can remember my grade. They have inside jokes, phrases they share laughs over and songs they sing. He was there to crown her for homecoming queen and he was there cheering her on for every homerun at her softball games. I got a text on my birthday and he never knew when I was at a dance competition. He did come to one volleyball game between my eighth and tenth grade years. He was late.

His answers were always the same no matter what, “Where is Christmas going to be this year?” “Can I go hunting with you this weekend?” “Do you want to come to my piano recital?”

“We’ll see, Hoot.”

With any major family event, I was always the last to know. When my Grandma had to go to the hospital, I had just happened to call him to see if we could hang out that weekend, then he told me. When the dog I had grown up with and known my whole life died, I didn’t know until a month later when I went to his house to visit. My stepsister on the other hand, was there for everything. Laughing with him through good times, learning things from him and being there for him when times were tough.

She did everything I should be doing, taking my place.

I don’t get to be a part of his life like a daughter should be. I’m just the other part of his life, the other daughter.