Chương 5
Claire appeared at the edge of my cubicle.
“Well?”
I turned the screen toward her.
She smiled.
“Congratulations.”
I looked again at the salary.
Then at the start date.
Then at the address of the Pittsburgh office.
For months I had been waiting for the perfect moment to leave home.
A moment when Mom’s hands hurt less, Dad’s finances were better, Vanessa was working, Brian was stable, the kids needed me less, and nobody could accuse me of abandoning them.
That moment did not exist.
It never had.
I accepted the offer before lunch.
That evening, I stopped at the converted attic apartment above the dentist’s office.
The pictures online had made it look depressing.
In person, it was worse.
The carpet was beige in the committed way only old rental carpet could be beige.
The kitchen had exactly one drawer.
A radiator clanged with the confidence of heavy machinery.
The landlord, a woman named Mrs. Alvarez, apologized for the bathroom tile three separate times.
I loved it.
Not because it was beautiful.
Because nobody else had a key.
I filled out the application at the kitchen counter.
When Mrs. Alvarez asked when I wanted to move in, I looked through the narrow window at headlights moving along the street below.
“Thursday morning,” I said.
Mrs. Alvarez looked at me over the top of her glasses.
“That soon?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at the application, then back at me.
“You sure?”
I almost said no.
Not because I doubted the apartment.
Because saying yes meant admitting I had already decided.
“I’m sure.”
She nodded and circled the move-in date.
“The deposit is due when I hand you the keys.”
“I can do that.”
“And the first month.”
“I can do that too.”
For once, saying those words did not mean sacrificing something I had been saving for myself.
It meant using my money for exactly what I had intended.
On the drive home, I stopped at a twenty-four-hour grocery store and bought three cardboard boxes from the customer service desk because I could not think of another place to get them at nine at night.
The teenager behind the counter charged me twelve dollars and looked embarrassed about it.
“You could probably get these free somewhere,” he said.
“Probably.”
He slid the receipt toward me.
“Moving?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck.”
I carried the flattened boxes under one arm and almost laughed at how absurdly comforting those two words felt coming from a stranger.
At home, everyone was asleep except Dad.
He sat in the living room with the television muted, reading something on his phone.
His eyes went to the boxes.
“What are those?”
“Boxes.”
“I can see that.”
I waited.
He put his phone down.
“What for?”
“I’m moving.”
He stared at me long enough that the furnace kicked on between us.
“When?”
“Thursday.”
Dad’s face changed slowly, irritation arriving before surprise had fully left.
“Thursday as in two days from now?”
“Yes.”
“You found a place?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Pittsburgh.”
He sat forward.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
I almost answered because nobody asked.
Instead, I said, “I wanted to make sure it was real first.”
Dad rubbed both palms over his knees.
“This is because of the trip.”
“It’s because of a lot of things.”
“Your mother’s going to be upset.”
“I know.”
“She’s already stressed.”
“I know.”
“And Vanessa.”
I looked at him.
Dad stopped there.
We both knew whatever he had been about to say would not help.
Finally, he asked, “Can you afford it?”
That question hurt because it sounded almost fatherly.
“Yes.”
He nodded once.
“You should’ve told us earlier.”
“Maybe.”
I carried the boxes upstairs.
Mom found out the next morning when she saw me packing books.
She stood in the doorway holding a laundry basket.
At first she did not speak.
Then she set the basket on the floor.
“Your father says you’re moving.”
“Yes.”
“Thursday.”
“Yes.”
“The same day we leave.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“That seems deliberate.”
“It is.”
The honesty startled both of us.
Mom stepped into the room.
“Emily, what are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“Don’t be smart with me.”
I folded a sweater and put it into a box.
“I signed a lease.”
“You signed something without talking to us?”
“I’m twenty-three.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
Her hands flexed around the hem of her cardigan, the arthritis making her fingers look stiff.
“We depend on you here.”
There it was.
Not we’ll miss you.
Not are you excited.
Not is the apartment safe.
We depend on you.
“I know.”
“And you’re just leaving.”
“I’m moving out.”
“You know what I mean.”
I pressed packing tape across the box and smoothed it down.
“Do I?”
Mom’s face tightened.
“You don’t have to make everything sound ugly.”
“I’m not making it ugly.”
“You’ve been angry for months.”
“I’ve been tired for months.”
“Everyone is tired.”
“Okay.”
That answer bothered her more than an argument would have.
She crossed her arms.
“You think because you pay a few bills, you’ve been carrying this whole family.”
“A few?”
“Don’t start listing.”
I looked at her.
She looked away first.
“Your father and I gave you a place to live.”
“Yes.”
“We never charged you rent.”
“No.”
“We let you get on your feet.”
“Yes.”
She gestured toward the box.
“And this is how you repay us?”
I sat on the edge of my bed.
For a moment, the room was very quiet.
Somewhere downstairs, Noah was singing the same three words from a cartoon song.
“Mom, I have been repaying you since I moved back.”
Her chin lifted.
“That’s a terrible way to think about family.”
“Then why is my staying here treated like a debt?”
She blinked.
I stood again.
“You say family shouldn’t keep score, but somehow you always know what I owe.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I know.”
May you like
The words came out softer than I expected.
“That’s kind of the problem.”
