Tracy only watched in silence when she was about to unleash something vile.
“We need to have a serious talk about your living situation,” she said.
My hand tightened on the wooden spoon.
“What about my living situation?” I asked, not looking at her yet. Dangerous, I know. But I wanted to hear it.
She sighed, that performative, put-upon sigh she’d perfected from years of Real Housewives marathons.
“Your father and I have been talking,” she started, “and we think it’s time you started paying rent. After all, you’re working now. It’s not fair for you to live here for free while we cover all the bills.”
Y’all.
The audacity knocked the air out of my lungs.
I stared at the sauce. Bubbles popped lazily. Somewhere upstairs, Brandon shouted into his headset about someone “camping.” In the living room, Sierra’s latest TikTok audio played on loop.
I took a slow breath.
“What about Brandon and Sierra?” I asked. “Are they paying rent?”
She dabbed at imaginary crumbs on the counter with a folded napkin.
“Well, that’s different,” she said. “They’re my children. They’re still getting established. Brandon is pursuing his content creation career, and Sierra is focusing on her education.”
I almost dropped the pot.
“Content creation career” = lip-syncing in the same hoodie to trending sounds and rage-quitting Fortnite streams when a twelve-year-old beat him. “Focusing on her education” = posting “study vibes” pictures of flat-lay notebooks and then going to parties.
But I didn’t say that.
Yet.
“How much?” I asked, turning the burner down so the sauce wouldn’t burn. “How much rent?”
She brightened. She actually brightened, like we were negotiating a business deal she knew she’d win.
“We think $800 a month is reasonable,” she said. “Plus utilities. And of course, we’d still expect you to help out around the house. We’re a family. We all pitch in.”
Eight.
Hundred.
Dollars.
To live in a house my grandparents bought. The house I’d been cleaning since I was twelve. The house whose mortgage had been paid off before I even hit puberty.
Something inside me… snapped.
Not like a fireworks snap. More like a switch flipped.
Everything got very, very quiet.
I turned off the burner. Set the spoon down. Wiped my hands on a dish towel.
“Okay,” I said.
Tracy blinked. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” I said calmly. “I think we should have a serious talk about my living situation. Let’s get everyone together.”