Chapter 2
My room was a cramped little space, carved out of the old balcony.
It could barely squeeze in a camp bed and a plastic storage cabinet.
In winter, icy drafts slipped through the gaps in the aluminum-framed windows, so I had to layer up with two thick blankets at night.
But I could handle all that. What really got to me was eating. Before Richard moved in, the fridge was full.
Before Dad passed away, he left my mom with 100 thousand dollars in savings and two apartments.
But after Richard moved in, the fridge started to get empty.
He never worked, just sat in the living room watching TV all day, the ashtray piled up like a mountain with cigarette butts.
Mom wasn't the same anymore. She used to call my name when dinner was ready, but now she'd shout, "Eden, Sabrina, dinner's ready."
I had to wait until I heard them eating before coming out myself.
Once, I came out late.
There were four sets utensils on the table, but the pot was scraped clean, and all that was left in the dishes was some oil.
Sabrina was eating out of the blue and white porcelain plate my dad had given me.
"That's my dad's plate," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but everyone heard me.
Sabrina didn't even pause with her forks. "Your mom gave it to me. What's the problem?"
I looked at Mom.
She wouldn't even meet my eyes. She said, "A plate's a plate. Grab another from the cabinet."
I didn't bother. I turned and headed back to my little balcony room.
That night, I hunched over my homework, stomach growling, while laughter floated in from the living room.
Richard was telling some joke, and Mom was laughing like crazy. I shut the door and pulled the blanket over my head.
Days like that lasted for more than a year. It was spring 2020, and I was seventeen.
That day, it all began with something trivial.
Eden had cleared out all my dad's books from the study, so he could set up his gaming chair and three monitors.
Those books were my dad's, and some even had his signature on the title page.
I fished them out of the trash, one by one, and carried them into the living room.
"You can't throw these away," I said.
Eden didn't even look up from his game. "Your mom said to just throw them out."
"These are my dad's things," I replied.
"Your dad's not even here anymore. What's the point of keeping this stuff? It's just taking up space," Eden shot back.
My hands started to shake. That was when I said it, "This is the house my dad left me."
My voice wasn't loud, but the whole living room fell silent.
Richard crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray and looked up.
Mom came out of the kitchen, her expression darkening with every step. "Lindsay, what did you just say?" she asked.
"I said, this is the house my dad left me. My name's on the deed," I replied.
There was a heavy silence for about three seconds. Then Mom stormed over and slapped me hard across the face.
My ear rang, and my left cheek burned like it was on fire.
"Think you're all grown up now, huh? This is our home. A family home. All you care about is the deed. Who are you treating like an outsider here?" Mom yelled.
I covered my face, but I didn't cry.
Richard stood up and dusted the ash off his pants. "Beatrice, leave it. If she doesn't want to stay with us, don't force her."
His tone was flat and quiet, almost emotionless, as if he was stating a fact.
Mom's eyes were red as she looked at him, then at me. In the end, her gaze settled on him.
"Lindsay, go stay with your grandparents for a few days. Come back when you've figured things out," she said.
Mom said it would only be "a few days." And I believed her.
That night, I packed a suitcase. I tucked my dad's brown paper envelope at the very bottom.
As I left, I glanced back at the living room.
Eden was already back at his game, totally absorbed. Sabrina was at my desk, facing the mirror, carefully applying double eyelid tape.
Mom stood by the door, her face a mess of emotions. "Go ahead. Tell your grandparents I'll come pick you up in a few days."
A few days. But those "few days" turned into six years.
My grandparents lived in an old public housing apartment in the south side of the city, two bedrooms and a living room.
Grandpa gave up his little study for me and moved out to the living room, sleeping on a fold-out sofa.
He didn't pry. On my first night there, Grandpa put a plate of pasta on the table.
"Eat if you're hungry. Leave it if you're not," Grandpa said quietly.
I ate everything, even drank up the soup.
Grandma stood by the door, watching me eat, then turned to wipe her eyes.
She didn't ask why. Maybe she'd known all along.
That first month, I waited every single day for Mom to come get me.
I kept my phone right next to my pillow, cranked the volume up to max.
By the second month, I gave up waiting and started calling her myself. "Mom, when can I come home?" I asked.
I could hear a lot of noise on the other end. It sounded like they were eating.
"Hang on a little longer, the house is still getting fixed up," Mom replied.
"Okay," I answered.
When the third month rolled around, I called again.
"It's not really convenient right now. Sabrina's got exams coming up, and she needs peace and quiet," Mom said over the phone.
The fourth month rolled around.
"Lindsay, be good, okay? Aren't you doing fine at your grandpa's place?" Mom said.
By the fifth month, I stopped calling. Mom did show up, though.
She showed up in a brand-new coat, her hair freshly curled, carrying a bag full of fruit.
"Lindsay, I came to visit you." She gently stroked my hair, her eyes rimmed with red. "I miss you, Lindsay. Make sure you study hard, alright?"
I asked, "Can I go back home now?"
Her smile faltered for a second. "There's no room for you at home right now. Wait a bit longer."
Three bedrooms, three people, and somehow there was no room for me.
The room I'd lived in for fifteen years was now Sabrina's.
Were my desk, my lamp, and my guitar still sitting in a box on the balcony? I didn't ask.
When she left, Mom pulled me into a quick hug at the doorway. She said, "I love you."
I heard those words over and over after that.
Every time she visited, she'd say it again. And every time, she'd say it and then leave.
Not once did she ever say, "You can come back home."
All through high school, I stayed at my grandparents' place.
Mom would visit every two or three months. Every time, it was the same routine.
She'd walk in, carrying a bag of fruit, and ruffle my hair.
Then she'd remind me to study hard and give me a quick hug.
"I love you," she'd say. Finally, she'd leave.
One time, Grandpa walked her downstairs, and when he came back, his face looked really bad.
"She came in that car again," he said.
I knew what Grandpa was talking about. It was my dad's old car. Richard was driving it now.
Grandpa just sat on the couch, smoking for ages.
In the end, Grandpa said, "Lindsay, whatever your dad left you, make sure you keep it safe."
I nodded. That brown paper envelope stayed at the very bottom of my suitcase, never touched.
The year I took the exam, I got into a local university, majoring in law.
Not because I wanted to, but because it was practical.