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“What the hell happened?”
“Your apartment is being evacuated, and your ‘landlord,’” she says with air quotes, “is refusing to move you to another one.”
Mr. Erickson’s hollowed face is red with anger when he turns to me. “The building’s been deemed uninhabitable after several pipes burst, and unfortunately, your space has taken the brunt of the damage.” He casts a wary glance at my sister. “As I was saying, there’s nothing else I can do. We have to wait for the repairs to be made, but in order to do that, you’ll have to leave.”
Carrie’s twenty-six, but looks every bit the established young socialite with her light brown hair slicked back in a bun, a pair of fitted slacks, and a ruffled chiffon blouse. Her arms are crossed, hip jutted out, and her eyeliner is sharp enough to kill.
When her piercing gaze finds mine, questions I had hoped I wouldn’t have to answer flicker in her eyes.
I can hear them clearly, as if she’s asking them aloud, wondering why I’m living in the rundown part of Keerah when I should be in a fancy high-rise on the nicer side of town.
“And where do you suggest we stay?” she asks Mr. Erickson.
“Look. I’m sorry about this,” I say, trying to smooth things over between them. “Surely there’s something we can do?”
I go for the kill, batting my eyes like I’ve never batted them before, but the stubborn man doesn’t give.
“Miss Vance, I understand this is upsetting, but it could be months before repairs can be made, and this is out of my control. There are no other apartments available for me to move you to.”
He inclines his head, leaving me and Carrie to trudge through inches of water pouring over the bottom of the doorway.
Everything is drenched. My furniture is ruined, my clothing is soaked, even the buffet table my mom refurbished and passed down to me is bubbling from water damage.
“No, no, no. This cannot be happening.” I stifle a sob when they carry it past me. “What are you doing with my things?”
Carrie’s lips form a grim line. “I’m having anything salvageable taken to a storage facility.”
“No. I can take care of this… I-I can—”
What, call my dad to rescue me and expose all the lies I’ve been telling him?
I don’t think so. Which leaves me the option of humbly thanking my sister for saving my ass, even if it means getting an earful later.
“When you said you got this place for a bargain, I didn’t think that meant you’d be slumming it.”
Dirty, gray water sloshes around my ankles as I step inside to assess the extent of the damage. “Living somewhere affordable doesn’t mean I’m slumming. It means I’m practical.”
Yeah, that’s what we’ll call it.
“Just tell me you at least have renter’s insurance,” she mutters before collecting a floating notebook with a half-drawn sketch of Mount Serenity off the floor.
She’s more perplexed when she finds mounds of yarn, parts of half assembled wooden figures, and wads of fabrics scattered around my kitchen table. Projects I’ve started only to abandon halfway through.
“Uh, it expired.” I can’t help but wince when I add, “Two years ago.”
Blue eyes, so similar to our parents’, widen. “Dammit, Penelope.”
Her disappointment churns a sick, tar-like substance in my stomach. Mostly because she’s smart as hell, and I know she’s decoding every single lie I’ve been spouting to her and our parents about my ‘amazing, successful life’ here in Keerah.
I don’t mind my grungy apartment or bouncing from job to job, and I don’t mind living with the bare minimum. But she wouldn’t understand why I do the things I do, so I keep silent, like always.
“I’m sorry, all right? I know this isn’t exactly the reunion we wanted.” I swirl my foot through the murky water, forcing myself to give her an out, even though I selfishly want her to stay. “I understand if you want to stay with Mom and Dad earlier than you planned.”
She sighs, but just when I expect her to tear into me, she slips her hand into mine. “I’m not leaving you like this.”
A mess. A failure. An embarrassment to my father’s hard-earned name.
“We’re going to figure this all out. Everything’s going to be okay,” she says.
