As they clomped upstairs, Mom gave my shoulder a patronizing pat. “Don’t make a scene. It’ll be nice having everyone together.”
I watched her follow them, feeling like I’d somehow been reduced to a visitor in the place that belonged to me.
“But it’s my house,” I whispered into the empty hallway.
The next two months were pure misery. Dirty dishes stacked up endlessly, laundry sat rotting in the washer until it smelled sour, and food disappeared from the fridge without warning. No rent was paid. No bills were shared. Not even a simple “thank you.”
One morning, as I once again scrubbed breakfast dishes, Tyler and Gwen walked into the kitchen looking unusually cheerful.
“Katie,” Tyler announced, wrapping an arm around Gwen, “we’ve got incredible news.”
Gwen grinned and held up a pregnancy test. “I’m pregnant!”
“Oh,” I said, genuinely taken aback. “Congratulations.”
“And,” Gwen added, that smug smile I’d grown to loathe creeping across her face, “I guess that means we won’t be moving out anytime soon.”
My grip tightened on the plate in my hands.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you both,” I said carefully. “I think it’s time you started looking for your own place. This wasn’t something I agreed to—”
