Story code: ST-000634
Part 2: The Demo Specialist Kept Asking Me, and My Brother Kept Answering for Me
When Leah said she needed direct confirmation from me, I thought the room might finally correct itself. Instead Ethan kept the sync band in his hand and answered like my consent was a scheduling issue he could manage around. The more calmly I spoke, the more obvious it became that nobody was confused except the people pretending family pressure was the same thing as agreement. “Ava?” Leah asked again. She had turned her whole body toward me now. Not the display. Not Ethan. Me. I said, “I haven’t agreed to wear anything.” Ethan let out a breath and smiled at Leah the way people do when they’re trying to smooth over someone else’s supposed overreaction. “She’s anxious. We talked about this on the drive.” “We did not talk about pairing,” I said. Dana set the brochures down too carefully, lining their corners up with the edge of the table. “Nobody’s trying to trap you,” she said. “He’s trying to help you have a chance you might regret missing.” That phrasing landed exactly where it was meant to. Not your body, your choice. Not ask more questions. Just: if you don’t let this happen, you’ll be the one ruining your own future and wasting his effort. Leah kept her voice even. “There isn’t a penalty for declining the band. We can continue as an informational consult.” Ethan’s head turned fast enough that even Leah noticed. “But then she won’t get the real experience,” he said. “That defeats the point of me getting her in here.” Me getting her in here. Not us coming to learn. Not Ava deciding. Him getting me in, as if I was a package he had managed to deliver to the right room. I looked at the wall display because I needed one second to think without looking at his face. A looped animation showed a wristband pairing to a stylized neural map, then soft text about user-guided calibration. User-guided. The phrase sat there glowing while Ethan stood three feet away trying to guide the user by force of family history. “I can just ask questions,” I said. His smile dropped for a second. “Ava. Seriously? After all the money I didn’t spend on myself this year? After the time? The calls? I put my own stuff on hold because I thought you mattered more.” He said it in short, clean lines, like each one had been shaped to sound noble in front of strangers. Dana looked at me with that pleading expression relatives use when they want you to volunteer for your own cornering. “You know he has shown up for you. Nobody’s saying sign your life away. Just don’t humiliate him after he went to all this trouble.” There it was again. Gratitude, translated into obedience so neatly it almost sounded reasonable. I kept my eyes on Ethan’s hand. He was still touching the band, rubbing the edge with his thumb like he was already demonstrating ownership. The green indicator flashed, then flashed again. Leah glanced at the band, then at the tablet. “For the demo to be valid,” she said carefully, “the participant has to choose to wear it without pressure.” Nobody said anything for a beat. It was the first sentence in the room that made pressure visible. Ethan gave a quick laugh. “Pressure? This is family.” Leah didn’t laugh back. “I understand. I’m just explaining the process.” He shifted his stance toward me, blocking part of the chair from my view. “Then explain to her that she’s making this way bigger than it is.” “I don’t explain consent to one person by overruling another person,” Leah said. Her tone didn’t rise. That was what made the line land. Dana picked up the tote bag and set it back down. “Can we all please lower the temperature?” she asked. “Ava, just try the band for thirty seconds. If you hate it, we’re done.” Thirty seconds. In my family, every boundary gets renamed into a tiny favor first. I said, “Why does everyone keep talking like I owe this room something?” No one answered that directly. Ethan stepped closer again and held the band out with his palm open now, offering instead of hovering. It would have looked gentle from across the room. “Because people have invested in you,” he said. “At some point, you have to stop acting like every act of care is an attack.” I looked at the band, then at him. “If what you gave up was really a gift, why are you collecting it here?” Dana’s hand froze on the tote strap. Leah stopped moving entirely. Ethan blinked once, then gave a small, disbelieving shake of his head. “That is not fair.” “Maybe not,” I said. “But neither is bringing me somewhere under one story and switching it to another once there are witnesses.” He started talking faster after that. “I switched nothing. You’re twisting this. I told you this could help you. I spent months making space for this. I put off my own consult. I advocated for you. I did everything a brother is supposed to do, and now you’re standing here acting like I’m violating you because I asked you to trust me for one minute.” Months. My own consult. Advocated. Every phrase made the same shape. His sacrifice only counted if it could still command me in public. Leah reached toward the tablet and tapped the other option. The screen changed from pairing prompts to a plain information menu. “We can remain in discussion mode,” she said. “No band. No demo chair. Just questions.” That should have solved it. But Ethan didn’t put the sync band down. He stared at the tablet, then at me, and his voice came out tighter than before. “So that’s it? I do all this, and you won’t even let me have this one thing?” Not let me have this one thing. He wasn’t talking about the consult anymore. He was talking about my compliance in front of the room.