Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
Vanessa watched me from the sofa, her designer sunglasses sliding down to her nose again.
“What are those for,” she asked.
“I am packing my things,” I said.
“You cannot take the furniture,” she said, her voice losing its theatrical lift and turning sharp. “Mom said everything in this apartment stays here to keep the place looking nice for when my friends come over.”
“The furniture belongs to me,” I said.
“It is part of the apartment,” she said. “You cannot just strip the place down.”
I did not answer her. I folded the bottom flaps of the first box and sealed them with a wide strip of clear packing tape, the sharp tear of the dispenser filling the quiet room.
“Where do you think you are going to go,” she asked. “A motel?”
“That is my business,” I said.
She stood up and walked toward her bedroom, her slippers dragging on the hardwood.
“You will be back by Monday,” she said over her shoulder. “You always come back when you need help.”
