Page 3 of Mountain Daddy
Because maybe she didn’t actually quit.
Maybe she was fired.
And maybe, probably, she’s a fucking liar.
“Kenny?” Dad’s voice cuts through the buzzing in my head.
My legs feel heavy as I force myself to walk back to the table.
I drop into the chair.
“You okay?” Dad’s expression is full of sympathy, and it makes my throat feel even tighter.
“She… She wasn’t paying the rent.” The admission tastes like ash.
“I’m sorry, Kenny. That’s… messed up.”
I place my hands palm down on the table next to my dinner. “The letter says we need to be out by the end of the month.” I swallow and will myself not to cry. “That’s only ten days away. And… I think that means they’ll come after us for the money, right? Like for the unpaid rent that I already paid?”
“Are you on the lease?”
I nod. “And I paid her cash. She said that would be easiest.”
Anger pours itself into the concoction of emotions filling my chest.
If I’d paid her with checks or a transfer or… anything but cash, I’d have a record of it.
But I have nothing.
“Shit,” Dad sighs. “If you’re both on the lease, I bet there’s a way for you to just pay back your half.”
I press my lips together, embarrassed that I’m in this situation. But I know I need to be honest if I want the best advice.
“I can’t afford that,” I say quietly. I’m thirty-two years old, and this eviction is going to completely ruin me. “I could maybe scrape the money together, but it would be everything I have. And if I need to be out in ten days, I’ll need that money for a deposit and first month’s rent at a new place.” The tangle of dread builds with each passing moment. “And I’ll need to hire people to help me move.”
Not to mention, no one will rent to me with this on my record.
My breath starts coming out in pants.
Is this hyperventilating?
“Kenny, it’ll be okay.” Dad leans close to the screen. “I can give you money.”
I shake my head. “No. Thank you, but no. I can’t do that.”
I don’t know my dad’s financial situation, so I can’t accept that much cash.
He purses his lips. “If you won’t accept money, then there’s only one other option.”
“What’s that?”
“You move here. Live with me.”
I wait for the punchline.
But there isn’t one.
He’s serious.
