Chapter 2 - Renee's Spare Room
Renee did not ask Malik questions during the drive.
For that, he was grateful.
Streetlights moved across the windshield while he sat in the passenger seat with his backpack between his knees.
His entire life seemed to be following them in the back seat inside two duffel bags.
At nineteen, Malik had imagined leaving home many times.
College.
A better job.
Maybe an apartment with friends.
He had never imagined leaving because his mother had allowed another man to stack his belongings beside the front door.
Renee finally spoke when they reached a red light.
“You can stay with me.”
Malik kept looking out the window.
“I'll figure something out.”
“You already did.”
He frowned.
“You called me.”
“I didn't call you.”
Renee glanced at him.
“What?”
Malik turned.
“I thought Mom called you.”
“No.”
“Then why'd you come over?”
Renee hesitated.
“Tanya texted me this afternoon.”
Malik waited.
“She asked if I still had your father's old tax folder.”
His stomach tightened.
“My dad's?”
“She said Darrell was helping her reorganize financial records.”
“That why you came?”
“Partly.”
“What was the other part?”
Renee sighed.
“Your mother sounded scared.”
Malik almost laughed.
“Of me?”
“Not everything is about what happened tonight.”
“It became about me when my clothes ended up in boxes.”
They drove the remaining minutes in silence.
Renee's townhouse was smaller than Tanya's suburban home, but warmth hit Malik the moment he entered.
Family photographs crowded the walls.
His graduation picture stood beside a photograph of Renee and Tanya as teenagers.
No one had cleared a room for him because no one had expected him.
Renee changed the sheets herself.
Malik stood in the doorway watching.
“You don't have to do that.”
“I know.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
That almost broke him.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Renee stopped smoothing the blanket.
“What?”
Malik stared at the floor.
“She didn't even pack my stuff.”
Renee waited.
“I could tell.”
“How?”
“The boxes.”
His voice lowered.
“Mom folds everything.”
Renee sat beside him.
“Darrell packed you?”
“He must've.”
“Without asking?”
Malik nodded.
For the first time that night, anger overtook humiliation.
“He went in my room.”
Renee's mouth tightened.
“He touched my clothes. My drawers. My desk.”
“Malik—”
“My dad's watch was in there.”
Renee went still.
“What watch?”
“The old Timex.”
“Did you see it in your bags?”
Malik turned.
“No.”
Both of them stared toward the duffel bags.
Malik immediately stood.
They emptied everything onto the bed.
Clothes.
Shoes.
Phone charger.
Books.
Work schedules.
His father's old basketball jersey.
No watch.
Malik searched twice.
Then a third time.
Nothing.
“I kept it in my desk,” he said.
Renee rose slowly.
“You're sure?”
“Since I was fifteen.”
Malik reached for his phone.
Renee stopped him.
“Who are you calling?”
“Mom.”
“Not while you're this angry.”
“It's my property.”
“I know.”
“He doesn't get to throw me out and take my father's things.”
“You're right.”
“Then why shouldn't I call?”
“Because Darrell wants you emotional.”
Malik froze.
Renee continued.
“I've known men like him.”
“Meaning?”
“Men who push until you explode, then use your reaction as proof that pushing you was necessary.”
Malik looked away.
“You think Mom believes him?”
“I think your mother wants something to be true badly enough that she's stopped asking whether it actually is.”
“What?”
“That Darrell is making her life easier.”
Malik laughed bitterly.
“He definitely made mine easier.”
His phone buzzed.
MOM.
He stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
Please tell me you're safe.
Malik typed:
You watched me leave. You know I'm safe.
He deleted it.
Another message appeared.
We need to talk tomorrow. Without Renee.
Renee saw his expression.
“What?”
He handed her the phone.
She read it.
“That's interesting.”
“What is?”
“She doesn't want me there.”
“Maybe she thinks you're making it worse.”
“Maybe.”
Renee returned the phone.
“Or maybe there's something she doesn't want me hearing.”
Malik sat down again.
He reached for one of the scattered receipts.
His monthly payment to Tanya.
Four hundred dollars.
Another.
Four hundred.
Another.
Four hundred.
Renee watched him arranging them by date.
“How long have you been paying?”
“Since I graduated.”
“Every month?”
“Yeah.”
“How much total?”
Malik calculated silently.
“About forty-eight hundred.”
Renee frowned.
“Your mother never told me.”
“Why would she?”
“Because three months ago she asked me for five thousand dollars.”
Malik looked up.
“For what?”
“She said the property taxes surprised her.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“Why?”
“I heard her tell Darrell the taxes were escrowed into the mortgage.”
Renee's eyes narrowed.
“You're sure?”
“Yeah.”
Malik picked up another receipt.
Something suddenly bothered him.
The first receipts were handwritten by Tanya.
Later ones were printed.
He turned one over.
At the bottom was an account number.
Not Tanya's normal checking account.
Renee leaned closer.
“What's that?”
“I don't know.”
His phone buzzed again.
This time the message came from Darrell.
You left some things. Arrange pickup through your mother. Do not come here unannounced.
Malik stared.
Then another message.
The locks will be changed tomorrow.
Renee's face hardened.
“He can't do that.”
“He thinks he can.”
“No,” Renee said. “I mean legally.”
Malik looked at her.
Renee picked up the handwritten thirty-day notice he'd brought without realizing it.
“This isn't a legal eviction notice.”
“You a lawyer now?”
“No.”
She turned the paper over.
“But I know enough to recognize when somebody's pretending.”
Numbers covered the back.
A property value.
A loan amount.
And beside them, written twice:
EQUITY AVAILABLE: $186,000.
Malik stared at the figure.
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Renee whispered, “Why was this written on the back of your eviction notice?”
Neither of them slept much that night.
