I came home two hours early on a Wednesday and had one hand on the kitchen doorway when I heard my brother laugh and say, “She actually thinks we care about her. Kate’s just a checking account with legs.”
Chapter 3
My new apartment was quiet.
At first, I hated that.
The first evening, I ate takeout sitting cross-legged on the floor because my table had not been delivered yet. Every little sound seemed too clear—the refrigerator clicking on, somebody upstairs dropping something, a dog barking in the parking lot.
I kept expecting my phone to ring.
It did.
Mom called eleven times in three days.
Thomas called seven.
I answered none of them.
Then the texts started.
Mom: The mortgage is due.
Thomas: Mom’s freaking out.
Mom: At least tell me what you expect us to do.
Thomas: This is way over the top.
Mom: Family doesn’t abandon family.
I read that one several times.
Then I deleted it.
A week later, Mom called while I was at work.
I answered because I thought there might have been an emergency.
“There’s no power.”
Her voice was furious.
“What?”
“The electricity. It’s off.”
I looked at the schedule on my desk.
“Did you pay the bill?”
A long pause.
“You always pay it.”
“I used to.”
“You let them shut off the power?”
“No. The electric company did that.”
“Kate.”
“What?”
“This is your home too.”
“No, Mom. You made that very clear.”
Her breathing became sharp.
“You’re punishing us.”
“I stopped supporting two adults.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
I leaned back in my chair.
That question should have made me feel guilty.
Instead, I realized how rarely anyone had asked what I was supposed to do.
Work more.
Spend less.
Fix it.
Those had always been my instructions.
“I guess you’ll figure it out.”
“You sound cold.”
“I’m tired.”
“Thomas is looking for work.”
“He’s been looking for work since the Obama administration.”
She gasped.
I nearly laughed.
“You think this is funny?”
“No. I think it’s late.”
“For what?”
“For you to learn I’m not your emergency fund.”
She called me ungrateful.
I hung up.
Two days later, Thomas showed up at the grocery store.
He waited near the customer service desk wearing jeans and an old college sweatshirt.
“What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“I’m working.”
“You always are.”
The old insult tried to land.
It missed.
I led him into the small employee break room.
He sat across from me.
“Mom’s losing it.”
“Then help her.”
“With what?”
“A job would be a strong opening move.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
He rubbed his face.
“The mortgage bounced.”
I said nothing.
“She needs almost fifteen hundred.”
“I know what the mortgage costs.”
He stared at me.
“Can you just cover this month?”
“No.”
“One month, Kate.”
“No.”
“We’ll pay you back.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Thomas flushed.
“Forget it.”
“No, say it. Tell me when you’ve ever paid me back.”
He looked down.
“Things have been rough.”
“For years?”
“You don’t know what it’s like.”
“What?”
“To not have everything figured out.”
That sentence surprised me.
I leaned forward.
“You think I have everything figured out?”
“You’ve always been good at stuff. School. Work. Money. You make things look easy.”
“They aren’t easy. I do them anyway.”
His jaw tightened.
“Mom always said you liked being the responsible one.”
Something inside me went still.
“Did she?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course she did.”
Because if I liked carrying everything, nobody had to feel bad for putting it on my back.
Thomas stared at his hands.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
It was the first apology either of them had offered.
I waited.
He added, “About the piggy bank.”
“Why did you?”
“I was being an ass.”
“Yes.”
He looked up.
“I didn’t think you’d hear me.”
“That isn’t better.”
“I know.”
We sat in silence.
Then he said, “Mom said you’d never actually leave.”
That hurt more than the insult.
Not because Mom had been wrong.
Because until that afternoon, she would have been right.
“What did you think?” I asked.
Thomas took a long time.
“I thought you’d get mad. Then you’d fix it.”
There it was.
Honest, finally.
I nodded.
“I’m not fixing it.”
He stood.
Before leaving, he paused at the door.
“Are you really done with us?”
I looked at my brother.
“No. I’m done being useful in exchange for being tolerated. What happens after that is up to you.”
He left without answering.
The house did not fall apart overnight.
Reality rarely works that neatly.
Mom borrowed money from her sister. Thomas found a warehouse job and quit after three weeks, then found another job at an auto parts store and managed to keep it.
The mortgage went thirty days late.
Then sixty.
I heard through my aunt that Mom had tried to refinance and could not qualify on her income.
She called me again.
This time, her voice was smaller.
“They’re talking about foreclosure.”
I sat on my new couch, the one I had bought with money that would once have disappeared into her checking account.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“If you were sorry, you’d help.”
I closed my eyes.
“No, Mom. Being sorry something hurts you doesn’t mean I have to stop it from happening.”
“You know I can’t afford this house alone.”
“Then sell it before the bank takes it.”
“That house is all I have.”
“No. It’s a house you can’t afford.”
“You’re heartless.”
Maybe once that would have broken me.
Instead, I asked, “Do you remember what you said the day I came home early?”
Silence.
“You called me pathetic.”
“I was angry.”
“No, you weren’t. You were laughing.”
She said nothing.
“That’s what I can’t forget.”
Then she hung up.
