Chapter 2 - The Two Trash Bags
My mind drifted back twelve years, to the smell of damp cardboard and stale fried chicken in our rented duplex on Elm Street. Grandma Elaine had been in the ground for barely three months when Mallory walked into the living room waving a positive pregnancy test like a royal decree.
At nineteen, I was working thirty hours a week stocking shelves at a local hardware store, saving every single tip and penny to pay for community college tuition. My bedroom was tiny, barely fitting a twin mattress and a second-hand desk Grandma had helped me refinish, but it was my sanctuary. It had a lock on the door and a window where I could look out at the oak trees and imagine a life beyond our small, bitter town.
The day Grant moved in, he brought nothing but debt, dirty laundry, and a foul temper. Within forty-eight hours, Mom called a "family meeting" at the kitchen table.
"Mallory needs a nursery," Mom had stated flatly, not even looking me in the eye. "And Grant needs space to recover his back after work. Your room gets the best morning light, Paige. It makes the most sense."
"Where am I supposed to sleep?" I had asked, my voice trembling. "The couch?"
"Grant’s back is bad, so he needs the living room open to stretch," Mom replied, her hands folded over her chest. "And the basement is damp; we need to store baby cribs and diapers down there. You're nineteen, Paige. At some point, you have to stop being my responsibility. You’re independent. You’ve always acted like you didn’t need us. So prove it."
Mallory had stood behind her, stroking her flat stomach with a smirk of pure victory. "This should be easy for you, Paige. You never liked family dinners anyway."
They didn't give me a week. They didn't even give me until morning. Mom handed me two heavy-duty black trash bags and stood in the doorway while I packed my few clothes, my textbooks, and a wooden carving chisel Grandma Elaine had given me on my sixteenth birthday.
May you like
Before I stepped out into the November drizzle, Mom handed me two cans of chicken noodle soup and a sleeve of saltine crackers from the pantry. "Tell people you chose to get your own apartment," she had whispered, leaning close so Grant wouldn't hear. "It sounds more mature for the family."
I had sixty-two dollars in my checking account and nowhere to go. That night, after my coworker’s couch fell through because her landlord stopped by unexpectedly, I slept in a twenty-dollar nylon tent tucked behind the rusted metal storage sheds of a roadside flea market. The ground was so cold my ribs ached until morning. I held my prepaid phone until my fingers turned numb, praying Mom would text me to come back. The screen stayed completely dark.
