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LARISSA

Phil was in the living room.

I just got back from the cabin with everyone. I’d been gone four days and from the looks of the apartment, Phil had been here the whole time.

I dropped my tote bag at my feet and scowled around at the mess.

Beer cans, pizza boxes—and an ashtray. Right in the middle of the coffee table. The whole room smelled like smoke.

I let out an angry breath.

“Where’s Nancy?” I asked, my tone clipped.

Phil looked over at me, bleary eyed, like he just now noticed I’d come in. His shirt buttons were straining against his giant belly. “Oh, hey.” He coughed without covering his mouth.

“My mom?” I said again.

“Just got outta the shower,” he said, pointing the remote at the TV.

I stomped to the bedroom and banged on her door. “Mom!”

“What is it?” she said, popping her head out, wrapped in a towel.

“You’re smoking in the house?”

She made an exasperated huff and pushed the door open. “I thought someone died the way you’re hollering. Come in, talk to me in here.”

“We agreed you wouldn’t smoke inside,” I said, coming into the bedroom.

She closed the door behind me. “It was two cigarettes. It was hailing. We had a tornado warning.”

“Mom, I live here. I pay half the rent. I don’t like smoke.”

“Well, I don’t like dogs and that didn’t stop you from bringing one home.”

“I asked you! You said it was fine.”

She wrapped a towel around her wet hair. “You’re making a big deal about nothing. I’ll air it out and light a candle.”

I made a frustrated noise.

Now all my clothes would smell like french fries and Newports.

I crossed my arms and looked around. There were beer cans everywhere. On top of the dresser, on the nightstand. And there was luggage in the corner of her room. Three suitcases that didn’t belong to us.

I turned back to her. “Whose stuff is that?”

She didn’t answer.

“Mom…”

“He’s staying for a bit,” she said, rubbing lotion on her legs.

“No, he’s not.”

She stood up straight and faced me. “Excuse me?”

“No!”