Chapter 3 - The House Jayden Lives InMarcus read the notice twice.
“Are they evicting you?”
“No.”
“It says they can file.”
“They haven’t.”
“When is this due?”
“Friday.”
“This Friday?”
“Yes.”
“And what happens Friday?”
Tasha folded her arms, but her hands trembled against her elbows.
“I get paid Thursday.”
“How much?”
“Not enough.”
“How short?”
She hesitated.
“About six hundred.”
Marcus looked at her.
The coincidence was too obvious.
“So my money—”
“No.”
“You knew you were six hundred short on rent.”
“I knew I was short on everything.”
“And then I sent six hundred dollars.”
“I did not use it for rent.”
Marcus slapped the notice lightly against his palm.
“Because the bank took some first.”
Tasha’s eyes flashed.
“Do you want me to apologize for being poor?”
“That is not what this is.”
“It’s exactly what this is turning into.”
“No. This is about you hiding financial instability in the home where my son sleeps.”
Tasha recoiled.
“Financial instability?”
“What would you call an eviction notice?”
“A late balance.”
“Stop minimizing.”
“And stop talking like you’re filing a report.”
Marcus took a breath.
He was angry.
But beneath the anger was something worse.
Fear.
Jayden spent most school nights in this house.
His clothes were here.
His bed was upstairs.
His basketball hoop was bolted beside Tasha’s driveway.
Marcus could survive being angry at Tasha.
He could not tolerate uncertainty about his son’s home.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“When I fixed it.”
“What if you couldn’t?”
“I would.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Marcus sat in the armchair across from her.
The argument had lost its volume.
Now it was dangerous in a quieter way.
“Show me the account.”
Tasha stared at him.
“No.”
“If you want me to understand where the six hundred went—”
“I’ll show you the purchases.”
“Show me the account.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because we are not married.”
Marcus paused.
Tasha continued.
“You don’t get access to my entire financial life because you sent one extra payment.”
“One extra payment?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I will account for Jayden’s money. I will not hand you my bank statements.”
Marcus leaned back.
That boundary, unlike some of her others, made sense.
He hated that it made sense.
“Fine.”
He placed the eviction notice on the table.
“Then tell me what you need.”
Tasha gave him a suspicious look.
“For what?”
“To keep Jayden’s home stable.”
She laughed bitterly.
“There you go.”
“What now?”
“Jayden’s home.”
“It is.”
“It’s Maya’s home too. Eli’s home. Mine.”
“Yes.”
“But the second you offer help, you frame it around Jayden.”
“Because Jayden is my responsibility.”
“And that’s the problem.”
Marcus stood.
“No. Kelvin is the problem.”
“Kelvin is one problem.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you keep acting like families come in clean little boxes. Your child. His children. My debt. Your money.”
“That’s reality.”
“Not inside this house.”
Marcus looked around.
The walls held framed school pictures.
Jayden at ten missing one front tooth.
Maya holding a science fair ribbon.
Eli in a tiny soccer uniform.
There was a photograph from last Christmas where Marcus stood behind Jayden, and Maya had leaned halfway into the frame.
Marcus remembered Eli asking him to help assemble a toy truck.
He remembered Maya giving him a Father’s Day cupcake once, then getting embarrassed and saying it was “just extra.”
He cared about them.
That was part of what made everything harder.
Caring created expectations nobody knew how to name.
“I’m not punishing them,” Marcus said.
Tasha sat down again.
“I know.”
It was the first gentle thing she had said in several minutes.
Marcus looked at her.
“Then why are we fighting like I am?”
“Because I’m tired.”
Her voice cracked.
Marcus said nothing.
Tasha rubbed beneath one eye.
“I’m tired of making one grocery trip stretch ten days. I’m tired of calling the electric company and pretending I forgot the bill when I know exactly why it’s late. I’m tired of checking the bank app before I let the kids ask for pizza.”
Marcus’s anger softened despite himself.
“Tasha.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You wanted the truth.”
He let her continue.
“I applied for that assistant manager position because it adds twelve thousand a year. My old work tote has a broken strap. Everybody in that office looks polished, so I bought the stupid handbag.”
She laughed through tears.
“I walked to my car and realized I had just spent one hundred eighty-nine dollars while my rent was late.”
“So you returned it.”
“Immediately.”
“And the refund?”
“Hit the account after the Brightline payment.”
Marcus looked down.
“So the bag didn’t actually come out of the six hundred in the end.”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
“I used the account after the refund.”
“For what?”
She looked at the stairs.
“Groceries.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
There it was.
Another category.
Another boundary crossed.
Another reason that did not sound malicious.
He sat again.
“How much of the six hundred actually went directly to Jayden?”
Tasha whispered, “Two hundred twelve dollars and forty-eight cents.”
Marcus opened his eyes.
Almost two-thirds had gone somewhere else.
Before he could respond, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Jayden appeared.
Neither parent had called him.
His face was pale.
“I heard you.”
Marcus stood.
“Son, you were supposed to—”
“I heard all of it.”
Tasha wiped her face.
“Jayden.”
He looked at Marcus.
“Mom didn’t make me give my money to Maya and Eli.”
Marcus said nothing.
Jayden swallowed.
“I asked her to.”
Then he looked at Tasha.
“But she made me promise not to tell you.”
The silence that followed was different from every silence before it.
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Marcus slowly turned toward Tasha.
“You did what?”
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