I actually thought I had misheard him.
“Household obligations?”
“You live—”
He stopped.
I waited.
We both heard the sentence collapse before he finished it.
I did not live there anymore.
Because he had thrown me out.
Dad cleared his throat.
“You’ve been contributing because you’re part of this family.”
“Last night you called me a burden.”
“Don’t twist my words.”
“Those were your words.”
His breathing changed.
I could picture him pacing the living room, one hand gripping the phone, the other probably pointing at Mom even though I wasn’t there to see it.
“Put the payments back,” he said.
There it was.
Not come home.
Not I’m sorry.
Put the payments back.
Something in me that had spent years hoping for a different father finally stopped negotiating with reality.
“No.”
He laughed once, sharply.
“Excuse me?”
“No.”
“Joanna, you are behaving like a child.”
“Then you definitely shouldn’t be depending on me to pay your utilities.”
The silence after that was so complete I checked the phone to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.
Then Dad said, “After everything we’ve done for you.”
I closed my eyes.
That sentence used to work on me.
It had worked when Mom needed grocery money.
It had worked when the electric bill was late.
It had worked when Dad promised he would reimburse me after his next opportunity came through.
It had worked because I confused being useful with being loved.
Not anymore.
“I’m not discussing this today,” I said.
“You don’t get to—”
I ended the call.
My hands were shaking afterward.
That surprised me.
I hadn’t shaken when he threw me out.
I hadn’t shaken while packing.
But saying no felt different from leaving.
Leaving had been something he forced me to do.
No was something I chose.
Marissa pushed my coffee toward me.
“You okay?”
“I will be.”
That afternoon Tyler called from his bedroom.
He spoke quietly.
“Dad is furious.”
“At me?”
“Mostly at the computer.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then his voice became serious.
