Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
“Vanessa has been spending her afternoon shopping,” I said. “She had three new designer suitcases delivered yesterday morning.”
Helen did not look up from her phone. “A young woman needs proper luggage when she is rebuilding her life.”
“They cost four hundred dollars apiece,” I said. “I looked them up.”
“Your sister has taste,” Helen said, her voice dropping into that rapid, declarative tone that permitted no argument. “And she needs support, not a landlord who counts her packages.”
“I am not her landlord,” I said. “I am her sister, and this is my apartment.”
My mother finally looked at me, her eyes narrow and cold under the ceiling light. “We will see about that.”
Vanessa came out of the back bedroom five minutes later, wearing a new cream-colored sweater that still had the plastic tag loop attached to the shoulder. She sat at the kitchen table, pulling her chair close to my mother.
I remained standing near the pantry, my silver watch dial ticking against my skin as I rolled it.
