Chapter 4: What Family Does
For a moment, none of us moved.
Marcus was the first to speak.
He always had been.
Even as kids, when something went wrong, he was the one with the explanation already formed, already reasonable-sounding, already designed to make you feel like you'd misread the situation.
"Hey," he said.
Like we'd run into each other at a grocery store.
"Hey," I said back.
"What are you doing in my apartment?"
"I was helping Asher and Adeline move some things around.
They needed an extra hand."
"You were carrying my boxes out of my storage closet."
He spread his hands.
"I was reorganizing.
There wasn't enough room—"
"Marcus." I kept my voice level.
"Bennett photographed you yesterday.
You were taking my boxes out of the building."
The hands came down.
Something shifted in his face — not guilt, exactly.
More like a recalculation.
"Those boxes were just old stuff," he said.
"You weren't using them."
"They weren't yours to decide about."
Asher moved then, stepping fully into the living room.
He was taller than I remembered, or maybe it was the way he was standing — shoulders back, chin up, the posture of someone who had decided the conversation was going to go a certain way.
"Look," Asher said, "we've been paying rent on time.
We've been respectful of the space.
If a few things got moved around—"
"A few things." I turned to face him.
"There are at least four people living in this apartment.
My sublease agreement is with two.
My boxes are gone.
And my cousin, who I did not give permission to be here, has apparently been coming and going with a key I gave him two years ago for a completely different purpose."
Adeline made a sound that was almost a laugh.
"You're being a bit dramatic."
Bennett, standing just inside the doorway, said nothing.
But I heard him shift his weight.
"I want to see the rest of the apartment," I said.
"You can't just—" Asher started.
"It's my apartment." I walked past him.
The first bedroom — my bedroom — had two mattresses on the floor.
One was mine, stripped of its frame and pushed against the wall.
The second was an air mattress, still inflated, with a sleeping bag on top of it.
A backpack sat open in the corner.
Children's shoes near the window.
Small ones.
Two pairs.
I stood in the doorway and looked at it for a long moment.
Then I walked to the second bedroom.
It had been my home office.
There was a desk in there I'd left, a bookshelf, some boxes of files I needed to keep.
The desk was gone.
The bookshelf was gone.
The boxes of files were gone.
In their place: two more mattresses, a portable clothing rack hung with jackets and shirts, and a plastic storage bin with a child's name written on it in marker.
Lily.
I walked back to the living room.
"How many people are staying here?" I asked.
Adeline crossed her arms.
"We're not doing anything wrong."
"How many people, Adeline?"
Asher answered.
"Six.
Including us."
"And the children?"
A pause.
"Two."
I looked at Marcus.
He was studying the floor.
"Did you help them set this up?" I asked him.
He didn't answer.
"Marcus.
Did you tell them they could bring in other people?
Did you tell them it would be fine?"
"I told them you were easy-going," he said quietly.
"That you wouldn't make a big deal out of it."
I stared at him.
Twenty-three years of family dinners and birthday calls and lending him money when he was short and giving him a key because I trusted him.
Twenty-three years, and this was what he thought of me.
That I was easy-going.
That I wouldn't make a big deal.
"Where are my boxes?" I asked again.
He finally looked up.
"Storage unit.
Two blocks over.
I have the key."
"Give it to me."
He reached into his pocket and held it out.
I took it without touching his hand.
"I want everyone out by Friday," I said.
"All of them.
I'll be contacting my landlord tonight."
Asher's voice hardened.
"You can't just kick people out with two days notice.
There are kids here."
"Then you should have thought about that before you turned my apartment into a rooming house."
"We'll fight it," Adeline said.
"We have rights."
I looked at her.
At the grey cardigan she was still wearing.
My cardigan.
"You're welcome to," I said.
"But I'd start by talking to a lawyer about what happens when a sublessee violates the terms of a signed agreement.
And then I'd think carefully about whether you want your landlord history to include this."
I picked up my bag.
Bennett was already at the door.
Behind me, Marcus said my name.
Quiet.
May you like
Almost like an apology.
I didn't turn around.
