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Ezra is sitting in the armchair in the living room, looking more upset than he had been this morning. He had calmed down by the time he got home from work and didn’t seem to have an issue when I had to get ready to leave. He’s an amazing uncle and doesn’t mind watching the kids while I’m gone. Last night was no different from any other night.
“What’s happened?” I ask, my mind immediately racing to consider something terrible happened to one of the kids while I was gone, but that can’t be it. I keep my phone close at all times in case he or the kids need me. I haven’t missed a call or a text tonight.
As I approach, Ezra holds out a single sheet of paper.
“What’s that?” I ask, rather than taking it from him.
“An eviction notice.”
I freeze, my mind racing. First it goes to wondering where we’ll live. I only moved in with him because we had nowhere else to go. Then my mind settles on guilt.
“Why?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Because I’m the only one on the damn lease, Kendall. Someone found out you and the kids were living here.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. I have no idea what else to say.
“I’ve lived here seven years. I’ve never been late on my rent. I’ve never had any problems until—” His jaw snaps closed.
“Until we came in and ruined your life,” I mutter, feeling the weight of just one more thing on my shoulders.
Maybe it’s life that’s strengthening my muscles, not the extra gym workouts. Carrying all of this around threatens to break my back.
“I didn’t say that,” he says with another one of those sighs I’ve grown so used to in recent weeks.
“You didn’t have to. What are we going to do? Can we get added to the lease?”
He shakes his head. “It would triple the rent. Besides, the condo isn’t rated for five people. It’s only a two-bedroom.”
That doesn’t make sense. What if we were a married couple with three kids? Surely, they wouldn’t require a bigger apartment. I have no leg to stand on right now, so I don’t even open my mouth to argue that point.
“Do they have a bigger condo here?” I ask, grasping at straws.
I’m living here to save money for a house. I’m already getting behind on that task because, despite Ezra’s generosity, I still insist on paying half the rent and other bills. I refuse to live with anyone for free.
I don’t want my kids to live in a condo forever. There’s not enough room, and they have nowhere to play outside.
“You’d have to ask at the concierge desk in the lobby,” he says, making it clear he has no desire to move with us into a bigger condo, which means I’d be moving alone with the kids, and that’s not possible. The rent here is already outrageous and possibly more than mortgage payments on a new house with a yard.
“I’m not canceling my Vegas trip because of this,” he says, tossing the eviction notice on to the coffee table separating us. “We have thirty days to leave.”
That calms me a little. If I pick up as many extra shifts at work as possible, I may be able to swing buying a house by the end of the month, but what about the time it takes for that process?
I slump onto the couch, tears stinging my eyes. I don’t even have the ability to hold them back until I’m alone this time.
“What am I going to do?” I mutter.
“You’re resourceful. You always have been. You’ll figure it out.”
You, not us. The distinction is very clear. I’m on my own in this. I don’t have any right to feel bitter right now, but that doesn’t stop the emotion from hitting me in the chest.
Being the older brother, he was the one left with the responsibility of taking care of me after Dad took off and Mom died three years later. He could’ve let me end up a ward of the state, but he stepped in and fought for me. Times were tough while he worked himself up the ladder as an analyst in the firm he works at, but we made it.
My life wouldn’t look the same as it does now had I not met Ty. I would’ve finished college. I’d have a steady job with benefits.
But I wouldn’t have my kids, and those three miracles are things I’d never regret.
I accepted that my life would never be perfect a long time ago, but I’m ready for the hits to stop coming. I don’t even have time to get on my own two feet fully before getting knocked down by another curveball.
I bury my face in my hands as I cry.
Crying doesn’t solve a damn thing, my mother’s voice says in my head. You have to take action if you want things to change.
