What the…?
Then I’d remembered the TV that Robert had been watching, and I’d wanted to vomit. It had been bad enough when I’d imagined he’d been making himself at home in my place, but things were so much worse than I’d thought. He’d obviously found my checks and helped himself to my bank balance.
I’d heaved myself off Neil’s uncomfortable couch and headed for my apartment. The subway ride isn’t helping with my rage. I barely earn enough money to keep ahead of my credit-card payments. And the whole reason I have credit-card debt is because of Dennis.
Right before I’d left Philly, he got in what he calls a “tight spot”—meaning, he lost too much money at another poker game. It happens a lot. That time I went four thousand dollars into debt because the game runners were going to break Dennis’s legs if he didn’t pay up.
I’d taken out a cash advance on my credit card, and I’m still trying to earn that money back. Lord knows Dennis isn’t going to.
But now he and I are going to have a chat, and he is not going to like what I have to say.
If Robert is there, he won’t like it either.
When the train finally pulls into New Lots, I’m practically bursting with anger. I jog the three blocks to my crappy little building and pound up the stairs. Even though I’ve only spent one full day in Neil’s luxury pad, the assault of stale food aromas seems worse than it was before.
This place is such a dive. I can’t believe Neil walked in here with me yesterday. But what’s one more humiliation this week? It barely scratches the top ten.
My key turns in the lock, and I push the door open.
On the sofa, my brother startles. Then he hits the pause button on a remote control.
“Dennis,” I snarl. “What the hell are you doing?”
He has the good sense to look guilty. “Just hanging out, Charli. I shoulda called you.”
“You think!” I let the door slam behind me. “Nice TV. Where’d you get it?”
“Robert bought it.”
“Uh-huh. And you said—hey it’s no problem if you put a TV in my sister’s place? She won’t mind?” The volume of my voice escalates on every sentence.
He flinches. “I knew it was a little rude. But you know how he gets.”
“Where is he?” I poke my head into my bedroom, where the bed looks thrashed. But there’s nobody there.
“I dunno.” Dennis shakes his head. “He went out.”
Not trusting him, I poke my head into the tiny kitchen and the even tinier bathroom, where there are unfamiliar hairs dotting the shower stall.
Hot rage courses through my veins. I’d spent most of my life underfoot, staying with whichever relatives weren’t sick enough of me and Dennis to send us packing. Once in a while, my mother would turn up to announce that she’d “started over with something good.” She’d haul us to another unfamiliar apartment with another unfamiliar boyfriend.
And the cycle would start all over. Until we’d inevitably be dumped on one of her many siblings “just for a spell.”
It’s a miracle I survived my childhood. It wasn’t until my teenage years that hockey scholarships allowed me to move on to shared dorm rooms at prep school and then college.
I’d never had my own room until this apartment, dumpy as it is. But Dennis and Robert couldn’t keep their grubby hands off it.
In my bedroom, I crouch down in front of the plastic file box where I keep my bills and my banking stuff. Sure enough, there’s a carbon copy of a check written to the appliance store for the TV.
There’s one more check missing, too.
Shit.
I stomp back into the living room and stand over Dennis, my hands in fists. “Did you happen to notice how he paid for that TV?”
Slowly, Dennis shakes his head. But he looks guilty.
“You turned the other way when he ransacked my stuff, took my checkbook, and helped himself.”
“Shit,” Dennis says flatly. “I’m sorry.”
“YOU’RE SORRY!” I shriek. “How does that help? Does he have a key?”
Dennis puts his head in his hands. “I think so.”
“Fuck.” I kick the cheap sofa, which does nothing but make a dull thump. “You are fucking spineless, you know that? You let him walk all over both of us. Unless the whole thing was your idea?”
“No, Charli! I swear.” Dennis shakes his miserable head. “I thought it would be harmless to come here a couple of nights. See if New York is a good place to get a job, ya know? I didn’t think he’d steal.”
“You didn’t ask,” I snarl. “You do everything the cowardly way. I’m so tired, Dennis. Grow a backbone and own your own bullshit for once.”
There’s so much more I have to say on this topic. I’ve tried for years. Get it together. We could help each other. We could be a team.
You’re my only real family.
Pretend like you love me.
Because—against all odds—I love you.
But today I bite back most of the things I want to say. I’ve said them already. I’ve seen this show before, and I know how it ends.
There’s nothing to do but cut my losses. Again.
“Dennis,” I say quietly. “I’m giving up this apartment.” I am, too. I’ve decided on it this very second. “I’m paid up through the middle of February. After that, this place is gone. If anyone is here after Valentine’s Day, that person is trespassing. The landlord will call the cops.”
“Where are you going?” Dennis whispers. “Did you get kicked off the team?”
“No! Bite your damn tongue. I’m moving in with a friend for a little while. In a better neighborhood. He, uh, needs a roommate, and it’s a good commute.”
“Oh,” my brother says heavily.
“Valentine’s Day,” I repeat. “Tell Robert that the party is almost over.”
“All right.” He sighs. “Sorry.”
“I’ll bet you are.” I turn my back on Dennis and head back into my room. On the floor, there’s a mattress and box springs that I bought. Aside from the sofa in the living room, which I bought off Craigslist, I didn’t invest in any other furniture.
Good thing. Because I’m going to have to leave everything behind. I have no way to get them to Neil’s place and nowhere to put them even if I could.
I march into the kitchen and find my box of trash bags. That’s what I have to pack my clothes in. So classy.
But sometimes a girl just has to move on.
And now is one of those times.
It’s mortifying to get out of a cab with four trash bags and a box in front of the Million Dollar Dorm.
But Miguel, everyone’s favorite concierge, doesn’t even blink at my tawdry luggage. He rolls out the shiny brass luggage cart and calmly stacks my bags on its velvet base. “I could just make two trips,” I say, because I don’t want the help. I gave my very last dollar to the cabbie, so I can’t even tip him.
“Just stack it up here,” he says quietly. “And you can fetch it whenever you’re ready.”
“Oh, okay?” I say, getting the feeling that I’ve missed something. “But I have a key to Neil’s place, so I can take it upstairs now. He’s probably home already.”