Chapter 4 - Clearing the House
As I stepped back into the living room, the atmosphere hadn't changed at all.
The television was still blasting dialogue from an explosion scene. Brooke was still tapping away at her new phone, giggling at something on social media. Tessa was munching loudly on a bag of pretzels. And my mother, Darlene, was leaning back against the couch cushions, closing her eyes in smug satisfaction.
“Marcus!” Darlene called out lazily without opening her eyes. “Since you’re finally out here, go into the kitchen and see if Hannah left any of those lemon tarts you brought home. My blood sugar is dropping, and frankly, she’s taken entirely too long in there anyway.”
I didn't answer.
I walked straight past the coffee table, reached out with my heavy work boot, and kicked the power strip plug right out of the wall outlet.
Pop.
The massive living room television instantly went pitch black, plunging the room into sudden, startled silence. The booming explosion audio cut off mid-sound, leaving only the hum of the refrigerator down the hall.
Brooke gasped loudly, dropping her phone onto her lap.
“Hey! What did you do that for? We were right in the middle of the climax!” she shrieked, glaring at me.
Darlene’s eyes snapped open, a flash of righteous indignation crossing her heavily lined face as she sat upright on the sofa.
“Marcus Alan! Have you lost your absolute mind? Turn that television back on this instant! Is that how you treat your mother after a long day? Coming in here and throwing a childish temper tantrum just because your wife spent ten minutes whining to you?”
I stopped in the center of the room, standing directly over their scattered pizza boxes and paper plates. My boots were planted firmly on their disgusting mess.
I didn't raise my voice. I didn't yell or wave my arms. I just looked at each of them in turn, starting with my sisters and ending with the woman who had birthed me.
“Pack your bags,” I said.
My voice was so quiet, so devoid of emotion, that for a second nobody moved.
Then Tessa let out a nervous, high-pitched giggle. “Very funny, Marcus. Where’s the remote? Stop playing games, we’re trying to relax.”
“I am not playing games,” I replied evenly. “You have ten minutes to gather every single piece of your belongings, bag up your trash from this floor, and get out of my apartment.”
Darlene stood up from the couch so fast her knit blanket tangled around her shins, her face flushing a mottled, angry crimson.
“Get out?” she shrieked, her voice scaling up into a piercing, theatrical wail. “Is that what you just said to your own mother? After we came over here to keep your foolish, ungrateful wife company while you worked yourself half to death? You’re throwing your own flesh and blood out onto the street in the middle of the night?”
“You aren't guests, Darlene,” I said, using her first name deliberately for the first time in my life. The omission of the word Mom hit the room like a physical blow. “You’re squatters. You’ve been living here for two weeks behind my back, terrorizing my pregnant wife, turning my home into a garbage dump, and treating her like a slave.”
Erin jumped out of the armchair, her face twisted in defensive fury.
“Oh, so it’s her now!” Erin screamed, pointing a finger at the hallway leading to our bedroom. “That manipulative little liar got in your ear the second you walked through the door and poisoned you against us! She’s always hated us, Marcus! She’s isolated you from your family since the day you got married!”
“No,” I said, stepping closer to Erin until she instinctively took a step back from the raw intensity radiating off me. “She didn't poison me. She protected me. She hid your eviction from me for two weeks because she was trying to keep the peace while I worked sixty-hour weeks to pay your phone bills and buy your groceries.”
I turned my gaze back to my mother, who was now trembling with rage, clutching her chest for dramatic effect.
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” I continued, my voice steady as a rock. “You bullied a woman who is eight months pregnant with my son. You forced her to do your chores, you mocked her physical pain, and you threatened her home.”
“We are family!” Darlene wailed, throwing her hands up in the air. “Blood is thicker than water, Marcus! You can't turn your back on family over a few dirty dishes and a little bit of attitude!”
“Blood stopped meaning anything the moment you decided to treat my wife like garbage under your feet,” I snapped, the ice finally cracking to reveal a boiling fury underneath. “Your apartment lease on the south side was terminated because you spent your rent money gambling at the riverboat. I know about the St. Joseph receipts, Darlene. I found the bank statements in your purse last week when I picked it up off the floor.”
The color drained entirely from my mother’s face. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, any remaining theatrical outrage instantly replaced by cold, hard panic.
“You... you looked through my purse?” she stammered, her voice dropping an octave.
“I looked at the bank app linked to the family account you’ve been secretly draining,” I corrected her coldly. “And as of twenty minutes ago, that account has been locked. Your phone service is canceled. Your prescriptions will no longer be covered by my debit card. You are officially cut off.”
Brooke started crying loudly, burying her face in her hands. “Where are we supposed to go? It’s almost eleven o'clock at night! We don't have anywhere to sleep!”
“Call some of your friends from the riverboat,” I said without a shred of sympathy. “Or call the landlord who evicted you. You have ten minutes. At ten-thirty, I am opening the front door, and every single bag left in this apartment is going over the second-floor balcony into the parking lot.”
May you like
I turned my back on them, walked over to the front door, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled it wide open, letting the cool night air rush into the stale, greasy room.
Then I crossed my arms, leaned my shoulder against the doorframe, and stared at my watch.
