Then Derek laughed.
It wasn’t a confident laugh.
It was the reflex of someone rejecting information before understanding it.
“You can’t end a lease because we had an argument.”
“I didn’t end it because we had an argument.”
“Then why?”
“Because you told me to leave.”
Another silence.
“That doesn’t mean you terminate the apartment.”
“You told the tenant to pack her bags, Derek.”
He lowered his voice.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“No.
I’m being very literal.”
He started talking faster.
“You need to call them and undo whatever you did.
Cassidy has all her stuff here.”
“I’m sure she does.”
“And I live here.”
That sentence was the first one that mattered.
Pamela heard it too.
She reached for a notepad.
I asked, “Do you?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“The kind the lease answers.”
Derek stopped talking.
For two years, he had enjoyed every advantage of my apartment without taking on a single formal obligation.
When rent was due, that had suited him perfectly.
When a repair charge arrived, he wasn’t responsible.
When paperwork needed signatures, he was too busy.
Now the same absence of responsibility had become an absence of authority.
Cassidy grabbed the phone from him.
“What did you do to the apartment?”
Her outrage was almost impressive.
“I ended my lease.”
“You can’t do that.
My things are here.”
“You brought them this morning.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
The question came less than an hour after she had watched her brother tell me to leave my own home.
I let that sit between us.
Then I said, “That sounds like something you and Derek should discuss.”
She made an angry sound and handed the phone back.
Derek’s tone changed.
Suddenly, he was reasonable.
“Okay.
Everybody got heated.”
“I didn’t.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you said.”
“I didn’t literally mean you should move out.”
I looked at the duffel bag beside my chair.
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Come upstairs.”
“No.”
“We can talk.”
