Chapter Text
"Leaving is an act that cannot be undone." - Nayomi Munaweera
If you were to describe yourself, you would say you were a pretty level-headed individual. Of course you could be biased, seeing yourself as a decent person with petty good life set up for yourself thanks to no-short effort on your parents part. By no means were you a nepo-baby, but you like to think that by working together you and your folks are getting by just fine enough to be more comfortable than most.
You could see the white picketed fenced two-story house that stood out from among the others in the common suburban lineup from it being freshly painted and having the numbers 1498 nailed in a line down the side of the white-powered coated mailbox. You pulled into the driveway next to a shiny pearl-white wrapped Prius with your beat up minivan loudly squeaking to a stop as you stomped down hard onto the brakes and threw open the car door in a hasty motion. You could feel the blood pooling in your ears and heat behind your eyes as you rushed up to the patio past the prim and proper yard of Kentucky bluegrass that nary a stray blade dared stood above the 2 1/2 inch height your father so precisely allowed. You stomped up the stairs past your mother's blue-ribbon winning Virginia Bluebells and Petunias that lined the front of the house all the way along the driveway and sidewalk creating the picture-perfect facade for your hell-spawn of a family.
You stood at the door and rolled your neck straining to school your face before you threw open the front door you were met with a tense stand-off as your mother and father's voices immediately slammed into you with the screaming match they were tied up in for the umpteenth time this week alone. Thank god for proper soundproofing, you guess.
"Four times. Four. And every time you swear it'll be the last. Every time you tell me that you'll finally get a damn job."
"Oh for fuck's sake, get off my back women! I'm already stressed-"
"Off your- Michael this is the fourth time that my parent's have had to help with the mortgage! I keep telling you that working here and there isn't the same as working full-time!"
"And I keep telling you that I'm doing my best! So maybe in the meantime we downsize-"
"Or you could get your family to help out for once! You can't keep expecting me to keep begging my parents when you never go and not do the same with yours!"
"Nobody forced them to help us! It's not like they had to give us anything-"
"Exactly! That is exactly my point! So maybe don't sound so ungrateful and just ask yours to help us instead of having us rely on them all the time!"
"How long is that savings going to last us? 2 to 3 months unless you plan on blowing the rest!?"
"Pretty fucking long that's how if we stopped burning money on-!"
“On what, Michael? The mortgage? Food? The bills? Or do you mean the money you keep spending on everyone else?”
"The fuck I do! I bring in more than enough to-"
“You brought in more. You haven’t had a paycheck in months. You’re living off your severance, and not a cent of it is going toward the house.”
“Bullshit! The reason we're even sitting here is because that money is keeping us afloat.”
“No, it’s keeping you afloat. You pay for your things, you send money to your family, and somehow my parents are now the ones covering the mortgage.”
“Don’t drag my family into this.”
“They’re already in it. You keep saying you’re supporting us, but in reality it's them who you’re supporting!”
“I have responsibilities outside this house, all right? Not everything is about the house.”
“It is when we’re about to lose it!”
“We’re not losing anything.”
“Then show me the account.”
“I'm not showing you anything I've already told you I've got it handled.”
“Handled? You’re burning through that money and pretending it’s going to last forever.”
“I’m doing what I have to do.”
“For yourself and your family.”
“They need me!”
“And what are we, Michael?”
He looked away. “I said I’m doing my best.”
“Your best is almost gone. How much do you have left?”
“Enough.”
“That’s not a number.”
“Because it’s none of your business!”
“None of my business? You’re using the last of your severance to pay for everyone but the people living in this house!”
So yeah, there was very little that could genuinely get under your skin, but that wasn't to say you never got irritated. You just found yourself to be a little more aware of your emotions than most people your age. In fact, you took it as a point of pride for being able to be on top of any wayward emotion that could steer confrontations in worse directions.
You kept silent to not disturb the couple as you walked into the kitchen and watched your prim and proper parents screaming match after closing the door behind you - no point in letting the neighbors hear any more of your business.
Your father was a stout man, his hair was neatly combed back and always was dressed in a pressed shirt and clean slacks, regardless of whether he had work or not- which, lately, was more often than not. Sitting rigidly upright on the couch he visibly bristled and spoke slowly to your mother through clenched teeth as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a fixed jaw.
Your mother was very much like father with a more polished air about her, more lean and usually dressed in the seasons latest. Her normally smiling face was now pinched in displeasure with her usually pinned up hair falling down her shoulders like a torrential downpour as she stared down at your father over the bridge of her nose standing over him.
Your father finally looked up at your mother with a deadpan look that she scoffed at, “I'm doing what I can right now, the job market is-.”
“Screw the job market Micheal, you’re not even trying!” Your mother snapped down at him with a sharp look that hardened her voice, "If you were trying, you'd act like we were in trouble. You'd be looking at the writing on the walls and be trying to figure out how to keep this roof over our heads! Instead, the first thing you do every time you get money is send it to your parents."
Your father cut his eyes to her with a grim expression, "They need help."
“So do we!” she snapped. “But somehow, we’re always the ones who have to make do while you keep rescuing your mother.”
“I’m not rescuing anyone. I’m helping my family.”
“No, Michael. This is your family.” She gestured toward the house around them. “And you’re using the last of your severance to take care of everyone except us.”
His face hardened, but she didn’t give him time to respond.
“That severance isn’t going to last another two months,” she said. “Not with you sending pieces of it away every time your parents ask. And when it’s gone, what exactly are we supposed to do-wait for them to pay our mortgage too?”
You father jumped up and stood over your mother, dwarfing her by his height quickly eating up the space between until she had to tilt her head all the way back to meet his eyes. "Don't talk to me like I'm the problem when you're the one who blew half of it getting this damned house in the first place!"
Your mother scoffed and turned away from him, "Like I could down that without your signature. Get real Michael, that was a joint decision and now we can't pay for it thanks to your little stunt at the office-!"
She stops and stares at you in the archway between the living room and the kitchen looking down at all of the scattered bills and junk mail that littered the dining table. They both fall into silence as a pregnant pause fills the room as you begin to thumb through the pile silently, quickly adding up the numbers visible in red ink for late balances. You sighed and looked upwards for a moment to gather your thoughts together as you calculated the projected debt that your sure any well-off person would wince at.
But, there were just some things that got you there - to that edge of what you considered to be your rational-self. You didn't have anger issues or any kind of personality disorders, it was just that when push comes to shove you didn't understand how dumb people could be sometimes. Like, you weren't very judgemental of others, but sometimes when you saw the inner happenings of the people around you you could only resign yourself to think of how it was they managed to get themselves, and often by proxy you, stuck in such strange circumstances.
"How much is left?" You didn't bother looking over at your father as he straightens at attention looking off to the side as he tries to avoid eye contact with either of you.
"..." His lips are pressed into a thin line as your mother stares him down and you continue to look up at the ceiling and wait for whatever abysmal amount that you'll have to find a way to stretch over what's currently owed and will be owed to the bank at the very minimum it seems.
You mother turns from your father and rubs her hands on her face as she sighs and walks past you towards the kitchen table to get herself comfortable for the seemingly long talk ahead. No one answers your question as you finally look over at your father and try asking him again to get a sense of the situation.
"I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume we're nearing the red. If you guys think that you can't keep up, then tell me what the number is, what account, what's due when, and I'll handle it from there." Your father finally looks at your with hard eyes that seem to look past you and your mother as he clenches his hands on the sides of his head to try and alleviate the coming headache that seems to be hitting him hard as just drops down onto the couch.
“Don’t. Don’t talk like that,” he holds his head in his hands and looks away from you again, "go to your room and let me and your mom will handle this one." He practically sinks further into himself as he slumps further down to avoid your gaze.
You let out a breath and shake your head before walking over to the kitchen table and grabbing all of the bills and begin organizing them by date and urgency.
“I get you want to handle it, but if we’re broke, say we’re broke so I can adjust.”
You mother swings her head around at you and stares you down hard, “We’re not broke.”
Your father quietly laments to you with a weariness that dripped into his every word, knocking all of the bravado from earlier out of him, “We’re one late payment away from getting kicked out, I'd say were broke.”
You stare down at your mother as she grimaces and looks away from you her jaw clenched tight. You take the stack of bills and look back towards your father. He's still looking down with his head in his hands as you approach and sit beside him laying out all of the organized bills neatly on the coffee table. Your father’s fingers stayed interlaced over his forehead. He didn’t move, didn’t look up. Your mother stood across the room like she couldn’t decide whether to argue him down more or just get up and walk away in the awkward silence they created.
You tapped the top envelope once, sharp and controlled. "Start here," you slid the bill closer towards your mother so the amount caught the light, "this is due in three days. Mortgage first so we don't lose the house, or else everything else is moot. Utilities next - electric and water are the main priorities, we can survive a few cold showers and we have an electric griddle if it comes down to cutting off gas. Then the credit card minimums. Everything else can either wait or go to collections."
They both sat in silence as you organized the bills on the table and stood again to walk back over to the letters left after you thumbed through them. You reached back into the pile after a yellow envelope, thick and official looking, caught your attention since it had your name plastered on the front along with an express stamp.
You peeled along the seam of it and fished out the thickest, most worn looking letter you've ever remembered receiving with a neatly written signature on the front that had your eyes widening in surprise.