Page 33 of Life’s Too Short

I whirled on him. “I have compassion. That’s why I’m doing everything in my power to get her into treatment. And if you loved her, you’d be helping. She needs boundaries, Dad. There have to be consequences. And if you don’t give them to her, then you’re part of the problem.”

His scruffy jaw set.

I gave him my back and started to rage-wash dishes. “You know, just once I want to be the one to fall apart. I’m so tired of cleaning up everyone else’s mess.”

The garage door off the kitchen opened. Brent came in.

He lived with his boyfriend, Joel, and his family in the house across the street. He probably saw my car in the driveway and he needed something, as usual. God knows neither of us ever came to this hellhole just because.

“So, the princess has returned,” he quipped.

I shot him a look. “You’re on thin ice, Brent. Do not test me. And you have a lot of nerve blocking me from a phone I pay for, by the way.”

He scowled around the kitchen and balled a sweater-covered hand over his nose. “Ugh, this place smells so bad. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you—”

I scoffed. “Of course you do. What pyramid scheme do you want money for this time?”

He made an indignant huffing noise. “First of all, it is not a pyramid scheme. It’s an actual business and I get to be my own boss. I just need an initial investment to build my inventory.”

“Great. Another MLM. Even better.” I slammed a plate into the drying rack. “I’m not giving you a dime, Brent. You have a business degree. Get. A. JOB. A real one.”

“I am not cut out for the traditional workforce, Vanessa, you know this! I hate everyone, food service is gross, and I’m not built for manual labor,” he whined.

Dad stood somewhere behind me. “Your brother is a budding entrepreneur, and all he’s asking for is a little start-up money.”

“Oh yeah? Then you give it to him.”

“This family takes care of each other,” Dad said, going on unfazed. “It’s what we do. I took care of you and your sister when your mother died. Annabel and you took care of Melanie, and now you’re taking care of us. It’s the Price way. If we don’t have each other, what else do we have?”

“You took care of us?” I laughed indignantly. “Is that what you call it?”

“Look at you. You turned out great!” he bellowed from behind me.

I slammed another plate angrily into the drying rack. “How dare you call your ‘fend for yourself’ parenting anything other than what it was. No money, our clothes smelling like mildew so we got bullied at school, nothing but expired food in the pantry. You bringing home some moldy sofa you found on the curb so we got bedbugs in the house and we got to spend Easter at Joel’s parents’ while you fumigated—”

Brent looked at his nails. “That sofa was pretty gross…”

“That was almost fifteen years ago,” Dad said. “How long are you two going to bring up that sofa—which was a gorgeous Victorian that just needed a little reupholstering, if you want to know. And expiration dates are myths. They just want you buying food you don’t need.”

“Who’s ‘they’? Big Grocery?” Brent said sarcastically.

I snorted.

“I taught you resourcefulness,” Dad continued. “It’s an indispensable life skill, and you’re welcome for that, by the way. You owe everything you have to the way I raised you and you have me driving around in a used Kia. It’s an insult. And frankly it makes you look bad. The father of a famous Internet personality should be in something distinguished. Maybe a Lexus. Or that new C-Class…”

I scoffed. “The car is done. You can Uber where you need to go from now on. And you clean this house and change the locks, or I’m done paying the bills. You can figure it out on your own.”

And then my chin started to quiver because how the hell was this family going to go on when I was gone?

I was the duct tape. The only thing that held this shitty piece-of-crap unit together.

If I went, Dad would have to step up and take care of Grace, and I had only the barest faith that he would come through for that baby. I wouldn’t even bring her over here to visit, let alone live. He was such a mess he’d probably die under a garbage avalanche in the den, and they wouldn’t find his body until the neighbors complained about the smell. Annabel would end up overdosing trying to chase her high, and she’d never come back for Grace at all, and Brent would spend his inheritance on some get-rich-quick scheme and be broke and starving before my body was cold.

I figured I had about a year. One more year if my hand meant what I thought it meant. And then I’d be gone and buried, and this shit show would continue without me with no one to curb it and they would all suffer horribly until the day they died.

A sob burst from my mouth and I turned and slid down the dishwasher until I was sitting on the filthy floor, crying into my hands. And the worst part of all was I couldn’t feel the tips of my fingers as I was doing it.

I could hear Dad coming to console me because the linoleum was so sticky his shoes were making Scotch tape noises as he stepped, and it just made me cry harder.