His eyes hardened. “Watch it.”
I pulled out my phone and hit record.
Maybe some part of me knew what was coming. Maybe I had watched enough videos online where entitled relatives tried to rewrite reality afterward. Maybe living in a camper had finally taught me the value of documentation.
Dan noticed the phone but didn’t care.
“We’d need some rules,” he continued. “You couldn’t just come in whenever. The kids need stability. Leah needs privacy. We’d probably change some things around, make it more family-friendly. Curfews too.”
“Curfews.”
“If you’re living in the camper, yeah. You can’t be coming and going all night.”
I laughed.
Not a polite laugh. Not a nervous laugh. A real laugh from somewhere deep and disbelieving.
Dan stood. “What’s funny?”
“You.”
His face flushed. “Mom and Dad said you’d do this.”
“Mom and Dad don’t own my house.”
“They said you would do it for me.”
I looked at my younger brother, the boy who had hit me and laughed when I was punished for hitting back, the teenager who had flirted with my girlfriend until she left, the adult who had called me a homeless bum when I asked for a driveway.
I said, “Hell no.”
The words came out loud enough that he actually stepped back.
I had rarely raised my voice to Dan. In our childhood, raising my voice meant punishment. But this was not my parents’ house. This was mine. My spine, neglected for decades, decided to stand up shiny and new.
“This house is not up for grabs,” I said. “I bought it. I pay for it. You are not moving in.”
Dan moved close, stopping just short of touching me. “You don’t deserve this place.”
“There it is.”
“I need it.”
“You need a vasectomy and a budget.”
His face twisted. “You have no wife, no kids. You don’t need all this space.”
“You didn’t offer rent.”
“I shouldn’t have to pay rent to family.”
“You want me to pay the mortgage while you live here and I sleep in the camper?”
“Family helps family.”
“No. You take. You’ve always taken.”
That was when the front door opened.
My parents and Leah came in like they had been waiting for the cue.
My mother had the nerve to look disappointed. “Nathan.”
My father crossed his arms. “Don’t make this difficult.”
Leah put a hand on her pregnant belly. “I knew you’d be cruel.”
“Get out,” I said.
My mother’s expression shifted into wounded sweetness. “Just do it for Dan.”
That phrase became the anthem of the next twenty minutes.
Do it for Dan.
He has children.
Do it for Dan.
You don’t have a family.
Do it for Dan.
You know how crowded our house is.
Do it for Dan.
Leah cried first, though no tears fell until she realized everyone was watching her. Then she turned them on full force.
“I’m pregnant,” she said. “How can you do this to me?”
“I didn’t impregnate you.”
Dan lunged forward verbally if not physically. “Don’t talk to my wife like that.”
“She came into my house demanding it.”
Leah’s face changed. The tears vanished so quickly it was almost impressive.
“You selfish piece of—”
