“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.