My apartment smelled like nothing but clean laundry and coffee when I finally walked through the door, which was a scent that felt incredibly fragile to me. I put the groceries away and realized that I had been leaving my entire life unlocked for far too many years.
I eventually answered my mother’s next phone call because I had already opened a recording app to document whatever she was going to say to me. She asked what had gotten into me, and I told her that I was simply enforcing a boundary for the first time in my life.
She laughed and told me that this was not the time for therapy talk, but I remained firm and told her that her guests were not my responsibility. She claimed that the family had all decided my apartment would be overflow space, but I pointed out that no one had ever asked me.
“You are going to need our help eventually,” she warned me, which was the same threat that Tiffany had used just an hour earlier at my door. I told her that I was aware of the stakes and that I was willing to take the risk to protect my own home and my son’s peace.