The silence I craved was not there. Instead, the blaring, chaotic noise of a reality television show assaulted my ears, accompanied by the distinct smell of cheap, greasy takeout food.
I stopped dead in my tracks. Blocking the hallway to the living room was a literal wall of luggage. There were three massive, hard-shell suitcases, two overstuffed duffel bags, and a tower of cardboard boxes that looked like they contained half a kitchen.
I walked slowly into my living room, my sanctuary, and my jaw tightened.
Sitting regally in the center of my pristine cream-colored sofa, her shoes resting casually on my glass coffee table, was Darla—my mother-in-law. To her left, aggressively scrolling through her phone with the volume turned all the way up, was Tasha, my twenty-four-year-old sister-in-law who had never held a job for more than three months. And sprawled in my favorite reading armchair, dropping potato chip crumbs onto the rug while yelling at the television, was Rick, Darla’s husband and Caleb’s stepdad.
“Surprise!” Darla exclaimed, flashing a saccharine, entirely fake smile when she noticed me standing there. “We’re staying here for a while!”
My brain scrambled to process the information. “Staying here? For how long? Where is Caleb?”
“Oh, Caleb is in the kitchen getting us some sodas,” Darla waved her hand dismissively. “Our landlord back in Ohio decided not to renew our lease. Can you believe the nerve of that man? He claimed we were ‘habitually late’ on rent. So, we packed up and drove down. Caleb said you guys had plenty of space.”
Tasha didn’t even look up from her phone. “And just so you know, Jenna,” she said, her voice dripping with unearned arrogance, “we’re not paying rent. Family is family, right? Family doesn’t charge family.”
