“Dustin, five hundred dollars is a lot of money to spend on a whim when we are trying to scrape together your first semester fees,” I said.
“You do not want me to have a relationship with him,” Dustin said, his right hand going back to his forearm, rubbing the wrapped skin through his shirt. “You think I can’t make my own decisions.”
He pushed his plate away, the chicken virtually untouched, and stood up from the table. The floorboards creaked as he walked down the short hallway to his bedroom, his door closing with a firm, quiet click.
I sat in the kitchen for a long time, watching the grease solidify on his plate under the yellow light of the stove. The numbers did not add up, and Stephen’s sudden burst of generosity felt like a chess move I had not anticipated.
Later that night, the house was completely dark except for the small brass lamp on my bedroom desk. I pulled the bottom drawer open, the old wood sticking for a second before yielding with a sharp scrape.
