“Good,” she said, smoothing her robe. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable. Like I said, your father and I—”
“You’re right,” I cut in. “People who live here should pay rent.”
The relief that washed over her face lasted exactly two seconds.
“I did some research on market rates,” I continued. “For a house like this, in this neighborhood? I think $1,200 per person is fair. So that’s $3,600 a month from you, Brandon, and Sierra. Not including utilities. And of course, we’ll need a security deposit.”
Chaos.
Brandon literally choked, milk spraying across the table.
“This is bull—” he coughed.
Sierra’s phone clattered to the table, avocado smear down the front of her new white crop top.
“What?!” she shrieked.
Tracy went sheet-white.
“You can’t be serious,” she hissed. “We are family.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious,” I said. “And speaking of family…”
I pulled out my phone.
“Let’s talk about that little conversation you had with Dad this morning. About sending me off to some out-of-state school ‘for my mental health.’”
I hit play.
Tracy’s own voice filled the kitchen.
“I’m worried about her mental health. All this anger she’s carrying around…”