He didn’t reply, lost in his thoughts, twisted up in his feelings, and lacking any real outlet to divulge them.
His mother invited herself into his bedroom, much like she always did, and started to fold clothes. Not Kaiden’s clothes. Nope. She never volunteered, and honestly, most of his wardrobe required a gentle touch from the suits he had to the corset vests he’d handwash or occasionally send out for drycleaning if he could afford such luxuries. No, the laundry belonged to his nephews, and their dressers ate up a good chunk of space in Kaiden’s bedroom.
“You’ve been going out a lot,” she said, tucking away a pair of pajamas. “Partying? Clubbing? Anything risky like last time?”
Kaiden scoffed. His family only brought up his incident as a warning about the dangers his lifestyle brought. After the heated argument with his sister, he learned not to engage when someone in his family made an off-handed quip. It was easierto nod and ignore than speak and educate. None of them were interested in learning a goddamn thing.
“It’s been challenging watching the boys day in and day out.”
“Yeah, grandkids can be a handful.”
Kaiden knew exactly where this conversation was heading—a guilt trip. His mother had used them time and time again when recruiting Kaiden into helping with things that shouldn’t have been his responsibility.
“It’s put a lot of pressure on your sister,” his mother continued. “With work, the kids, saving up, especially with so many unforeseen expenses…”
Kaiden did his best to tune out his mother. It pained him to ignore her plight, but the thing was, it wasn’t her plight. It was Sandra. He’d gone out of his way to help for years without asking for a thing in return, even letting the subtle homophobic attitudes in the house slide. But after their argument, he realized there was nothing subtle about her bigotry, her disdain for his lifestyle, her disgust.
If she wanted to blame Kaiden for his own assault, then he’d continue refusing his assistance. He sure as hell wasn’t going to give up his evenings and days off to watch his nephews and baby niece when their own father couldn’t be bothered to sacrifice one night to watch them.
“Your father and I were—”
“Stepfather,” Kaiden corrected.
“We were discussing how you’re not contributing anymore.” His mother stopped folding a pair of jeans midway, practically using them as some type of buffer to shield herself from Kaiden.
She hated conflict almost as much as he did, which was why she always sided with the majority, and why Kaiden almost always got left on the outside of any argument.
“Not contributing?” He sat up, offended at that notion. “I do all the grocery shopping. I’m the only reason we have any streaming services in this house. Pretty sure the electricity is still in my name because John can’t—”
“You know how difficult things have been for your father,” his mother interjected, nostrils flaring, and eyes already watering.
“Stepfather,” Kaiden snapped, refusing to let his mother slip in the familial term like it meant a goddamn thing.
John had made it clear from every skipped school event, every field trip form left unsigned, every doctor’s visit he’d forgotten, every bully he supported to knock some sense into Kaiden, and a million other tiny horrors that he didn’t consider Kaiden family. He was simply the unwanted toddler from a bad marriage. Sandra was his only child, and Kaiden found himself reminded of this fact every day of his life.
“At least he’s here,” Kaiden’s mother said, drawing him away from buried childhood nightmares. “Unlike you, going out every night, leaving us to fend for ourselves, exploiting our good grace.”
“Exploiting?” Kaiden scoffed. “I share a room with my fucking nephews.”
“More like you take away from a room your nephews could have.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sandy has been working so hard to give them everything she can, just like me and your father try to give you kids everything we can,” his mother spoke with a tremble in her voice, puppeteering some rehearsed speech, no doubt. Only Kaidencouldn’t discern if this was a speech she’d practiced herself or been coached on by John and Sandra. “We all just feel that if you’re going to continue living here, refusing to contribute, to help, then you should be paying rent.”
“For half a fucking bedroom?” Kaiden rolled out of his bed, gesturing to all the toys strewn about, the bunk beds, the crammed closet, and every other bit consumed by his nephews. “I’m sorry, a third of a fucking bedroom.”
“Do not swear at me.” His mother jabbed her finger in the air. “It is not my fault you’re sharing this bedroom. If you didn’t like the arrangement, you’ve had years to save up and get your own place. But wait? Can’t do that, can you? Not when you’re floating between jobs and partying it up.”
“Floating between jobs?” Kaiden snapped. “Do you mean the job that fired me because my car broke down, and no one here would take me to work? Or maybe the job that was a thirty-five-minute commute—on a good day—but wouldn’t give me more than twenty hours a week. Maybe you mean the job where Sandra came in with her kids and caused a scene. Gotta love family drama on the clock. That made for a fun resume update.”
“I’m not letting you drag me into an argument,” his mother said calmly. “I just wanted to let you know your father and I have discussed this. Moving forward, you will be contributing your fair share.”
“Okay, so what exactly are you charging me per month?” Kaiden asked, whipping out his phone and pulling up the calculator. “Because I’d like to start making some deductive calculations. I sure as shit am not helping with utilities and food on top of rent for a half-bedroom and some goddamn basement storage.”
“If that’s how you feel, then maybe you should leave.”
Kaiden tsked. “And go where?”
