Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
“Mom, this is a two-bedroom apartment, and one of those rooms is my office,” I said, my thumb spinning the watch dial until the metal clicked against my skin. “I pay my nine hundred dollars on time every month.”
“You pay that because your father and I allow it,” Helen said, the tapping on her screen growing faster. “If you cannot accommodate your own sister in an emergency, we will have to reevaluate the terms of your tenancy.”
The threat hung in the kitchen, dry and heavy. I looked at Vanessa, who was sitting at my table, idly shifting her sunglasses onto her head and back down again.
“How long does she need to stay?” I asked.
“Until she finds a new place,” Helen said, and the line went dead.
Vanessa did not wait for me to agree. She grabbed the handle of her largest suitcase and began dragging it down the narrow hallway toward my workspace.
“You can move your little work stuff into your bedroom,” Vanessa said, throwing her head back with another dramatic sigh as she pushed the door to my office open.
My desk, my reference books, and my client files were arranged under the window, neat and silent. She shoved her suitcase against my filing cabinet, leaving a long black scuff mark on the white paint.
“I need this room to sleep, Lauren,” she said, her sunglasses slipping back onto her head. “I cannot sleep on a sofa with my back.”
I stood in the doorway, watching her wheel the second bag inside, crowding the desk I used ten hours a day. The sixty-two dollars’ worth of groceries I had ordered for the week sat on the kitchen counter, suddenly looking like a very small amount of food for two people.
“We need to set some house rules,” I said.
