His parents took a spare key to our house, and a week later I woke to the sound of the deadbolt turning and Marsha’s voice in my kitchen.
PART 4
Cicadas drilled into the heat outside, relentless and mechanical. Lily sat at the kitchen table and listened to them. Adam sat across from her. Neither of them had spoken in twenty minutes.
The coffee in front of her had gone cold. She didn’t drink it. She just held the mug, feeling the ceramic go from warm to cool under her hands. The cicadas got louder. Then softer. Then louder again.
“You embarrassed them,” Adam said finally.
Lily looked at him. “They let themselves into our house.”
“They were bringing us breakfast.”
“Without asking.”
“They don’t need to ask. They’re family.”
She set the mug down carefully. “I’m family.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He rubbed his face. He looked tired. Not just this-morning tired. Tired in a way that went deeper. “I meant… they’re my parents. They raised me. They love me. They’re just trying to stay close.”
“By walking into our house whenever they want?”
“It’s not a big deal, Lily.”
“It is to me.”
He looked at her then. Really looked. And she saw something in his face she hadn’t seen before. Not anger. Something worse. Confusion. Like he genuinely could not understand why she was upset.
“They’ve always been like this,” he said. “It’s just how they are.”
“And I’m just supposed to live with it?”
“I’m just supposed to cut them off?”
“I didn’t ask you to cut them off. I asked you to get the key back.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not.”
He shook his head. “You don’t get it. If I ask for the key back, my mom will cry. My dad will stop talking to me. There’ll be weeks of this… cold silence. Phone calls I have to make to apologize. It’ll be a whole thing.”
“So you’d rather I just swallow it.”
“I’d rather you understand that it’s complicated.”
The cicadas were so loud now she could barely think. She stared at the table. There was a scratch in the wood near her hand. She ran her finger along it.
“I do understand,” she said quietly. “I understand exactly what you’re saying.”
“Then why are we fighting?”
She didn’t answer right away. She thought about her mother. About all the times she’d been told to be the flexible one. The agreeable one. The one who made it easy for everyone else. She thought about the binder on the counter. The perfume that wouldn’t leave. The sound of the deadbolt turning while she lay in bed.
She thought about the look on Adam’s face when he’d handed over the key. That careful, cautious look. The one that said please don’t make this hard.
“Who are you more afraid of disappointing?” she asked. “Them or me?”
Adam flinched. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s a question.”
“I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”
“That’s not an option.”
He stood up. Paced to the window. The cicadas screamed outside. He stood there for a long time, looking out at the street.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he said. His voice was small. Younger than she’d ever heard it. “I don’t know how to make everyone happy.”
“You can’t.”
“Then what do I do?”
She wanted to tell him. She wanted to say you choose me. You tell them no. You get the key back and you make it clear that this is our house, our life, our boundary. But she didn’t.
Because she realized, sitting there in the kitchen with the cicadas screaming and the cold coffee in front of her, that if she had to tell him, it didn’t count.
“I don’t know,” she said.
He turned to look at her. Waiting. But she didn’t say anything else.
Her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. Their landlord. She answered.
“Hi, Lily. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to let you know about something.”
“Okay.”
“I got a call this morning from a George Tennant. He said he’s Adam’s father.”
Lily’s chest went tight. “What did he want?”
“He wanted to know if I’d be willing to terminate your lease early. Said there were safety concerns. Offered to pay out the remaining months if I’d agree to it.”
The room tilted. Just slightly. Just enough.
“What did you tell him?” Lily asked.
“I told him the lease is between you and Adam, and I don’t discuss it with third parties. But I wanted you to know.”
“Thank you.”
She hung up. Set the phone down on the table. Adam was staring at her.
“What was that?”
“Your parents,” she said. Her voice sounded far away. Calm. Like it belonged to someone else. “They tried to get us evicted.”
Adam went pale. “What?”
“They called the landlord. Offered to pay out the lease. Said there were safety concerns.”
He sat down hard. “They wouldn’t—”
“They did.”
He pulled out his phone. Stared at it. Put it down. Picked it up again. “I’ll call them. I’ll talk to them. This is—this is too far.”
Lily watched him. He was panicking now. She could see it. The same panic from this morning, but worse. Because this wasn’t something he could smooth over. This wasn’t a misunderstanding or a well-meaning gesture gone wrong. This was deliberate.
“Don’t,” she said.
“What?”
“Don’t call them.”
“Lily, they tried to get us kicked out of our house.”
“I know.”
“So I need to—”
“I changed the locks.”
The kitchen went quiet. Even the cicadas seemed to pause. Adam stared at her.
“You what?”
“I called a locksmith this morning. While you were in the shower. He’s coming this afternoon.”
“You… you changed the locks.”
“Yes.”
“Without asking me?”
She looked at him. “You gave away a key without asking me.”
His face did something complicated. Hurt and anger and something else she couldn’t name. He stood up. Walked to the door. Stopped.
“I need to think,” he said.
“Okay.”
He left. The front door closed. Not a slam. Just a click. The cicadas started up again, loud and relentless. Lily sat at the table and listened to them. She didn’t cry. She didn’t feel relieved. She just felt… clear.
She knew the shape of it now. The question she’d been avoiding. It wasn’t can I live with his parents. It was can I live with him.
