Page 5 of The Cost of Love

“Here, let me help,” Imani says, lifting the bags from my hands.

I look at her smiling face and feel my breath catch in my throat. Usually, she is playing up the sulky teenager vibes, so it has been days since I’ve seen her teeth shining in my direction. She turns away, and her short curly hair moves with her, bouncing as she walks.

“What did you bring us?” Jamal asks, barely lifting his head from the book about penguins in his hand.

His fro stands at weird angles, letting me know he has been stress-pulling it.

“Tons of fancy stuff.”

“Like what?” asks Gabs. Having just turned eight years old, she is still light enough that I can lift her into my arms with little strain.

“Like cakes, and ricotta mashed potatoes, and focaccia.” I nuzzle into her neck as I say the words, pressing her closer to me.

Her little brow furrows in confusion at everything that follows “cakes”.

“Don’t worry, it’s good,” I say, putting her back down. She runs for the kitchen, where Imani is unpacking everything.

Dropping my backpack onto the coffee table, I move into our small flat, trying to step over the clutter that is four people living in a two-bedroom space. Trainers, bags, and unfolded clothes litter the living room, pouring into the open-concept dining room and kitchen. The only space not cluttered with all our belongings is the hall that leads to their rooms. It would probably be better if I had a bedroom to put all my stuff in, instead of just a dresser holding up the TV. I don’t, though, so I just have to find space among our sparse furniture.

Since my bed is the couch, blankets and sheets are always sitting on the end table, waiting to be used. Making it easy for me to get my sleeping arrangements ready, in preparation for the sleep deprivation finally winning out.

“I hope work was good, because I have bad news,” Imani says while bringing her plate over to our mismatched dining set.

She grabs the sturdiest chair and plops into it, bringing her feet up to sit cross-legged. Jamal and Gabs join her, and they all look at me in anticipation. Three sets of light brown eyes look into my matching ones as they wait for me to speak.

“What?” My stomach hitches, pushing up everything I ate until it hits the back of my throat.

She points to the coffee table. On top of the stack of bills is a letter, unfolded and left open to read. As my fingers graze the paper, my heart picks up an erratic beat. The words come off the page, floating into my mind as I scan the document.

“He can’t fucking do this!” I throw it back down, hands instantly making a home on my waist.

“We’re cooked, aren’t we?” Jamal asks, mouth half full of food.

“He can, and he is,” Imani says.

I look down at it again, just to be sure what I’m seeing is the truth. In clear black and white, it says Lenny is evicting us. He is using the grounds that he intends to move his family in, but why would he do this to me? I have been in this flat since I was sixteen, when rent in East London was a little more sensible. Now, thanks to gentrification, we will be lucky to find anything to house us here.

“Bloody hell.” I slouch into the couch and lay my head back against the cushion. Closing my eyes, breath labors in and out as I fight for every steady one. My heartbeat spikes and then stutters, stopping every time my panic wins the battle. My hands shake as I rest them on my legs.

“We can go to Australia. Live by the ocean and see the reef.” Jamal’s love of marine life pokes through his panic. His voice barely penetrates the buzz building in my ears at the lack of oxygen.

“What money are we going to move with, stupid?” Imani sounds closer to me.

“I have some quid from selling my old stuffed animals. How much do we need?”

“More than you have, Gabs,” Jamal says.

A hand slides on top of mine. It’s big enough that it has to be Imani’s. I look to the side to see her staring at me. She bites down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, her eyes crinkling around the corners.

“It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.” The words push out of my mouth with as much weight as my breath currently holds.

The air thickens with their combined disbelief, pushing me to get myself together.

“I mean it, guys. We’ll be okay.”

For the last four years, since I got custody of them, I have made sure they have everything they need. I will not fail them now. Silence descends on us as they wait to see if I will break under this additional pressure. I sit up a little straighter, looking each one of them in the eyes.

“We have ninety days. That is plenty of time to find something new.”