Chapter 4: The Secret Behind the Boxes
I stood on the porch for nearly five minutes after the front door closed.
My suitcase rested beside my leg, and the morning sun warmed the back of my neck, but I barely noticed either one.
All I could hear was Derek's voice.
"Now we can finally move forward.""
He had sounded relieved.
Not frustrated.
Not angry.
Relieved.
As if getting me out of the house had been the final obstacle standing between him and something he'd wanted for a long time.
I tried to convince myself I was reading too much into it.
Maybe he simply wanted a quiet home with my mother.
Maybe he thought I was too old to live with her.
Maybe I was looking for a reason to hate him because hating him was easier than accepting that my mother had chosen him.
But something about his words bothered me.
He hadn't said, "Now we can have some peace.""
He'd said they could finally move forward.
I pulled out my phone and checked my bank balance.
$684.27.
That was everything I had saved.
My next paycheck was still several days away, and most of it was already spoken for. I had car insurance, gas, and a small credit card balance I'd been trying to pay down.
A security deposit alone could swallow nearly all my savings.
I scrolled through my contacts, stopping at the names of two friends from high school.
I could ask one of them for a place to sleep.
I could probably find someone willing to let me use a couch for a few nights.
But I hated the thought of explaining what had happened.
How do you tell someone your mother packed your belongings while you were away and then stood beside her boyfriend when he told you to leave?
How do you explain that the person who had promised to protect you had become the person you needed protection from?
I finally called my friend Marcus.
He answered on the fourth ring.
"What's up, man?""
I tried to sound normal.
"Hey. You busy?""
"Not yet. Why?""
I hesitated.
"Can I ask you something?""
"Sure.""
"Would it be weird if I needed somewhere to stay for a couple of nights?""
There was a pause.
"What happened?""
I looked back at the house.
The curtains in the living room shifted.
Someone was standing behind them.
I couldn't tell whether it was my mother or Derek.
"Mom's boyfriend kicked me out," I said.
Marcus didn't laugh.
He didn't tell me I was exaggerating.
He simply asked, "Are you serious?""
"Yeah.""
"Where are you right now?""
"Outside my house.""
"Stay there. I'll come get you.""
I nearly cried at the simplicity of it.
"Thanks, man.""
"Don't thank me. Just send me your location.""
When I hung up, I sat on my suitcase and waited.
Ten minutes later, Marcus pulled up in his old sedan.
He got out, took one look at my face, and didn't ask another question.
He opened the trunk.
"Put your bag in.""
I did.
As we drove away, I looked through the passenger-side window at the house where I'd spent nineteen years.
I wondered whether my mother was watching.
I wondered whether she would call.
Most of all, I wondered how long it would take before she noticed that I was actually gone.
Marcus let me sleep on his couch that night.
He made us grilled cheese sandwiches, handed me a spare blanket, and told me I could stay until I figured things out.
I was grateful.
But gratitude didn't erase the humiliation.
The following morning, I went to work and tried to act as though nothing had happened.
I stocked shelves.
Helped customers.
Smiled when people spoke to me.
Every time my phone vibrated, I checked it.
My mother hadn't called.
Derek hadn't called.
By lunchtime, I had received a message from an unknown number.
It was a photograph.
My belongings were stacked neatly inside a garage.
Beneath it was a short message.
*Your mother says you can arrange a time to collect the rest of your things. Please don't show up without notice.*
There was no greeting.
No explanation.
No acknowledgment that the things in those boxes belonged to someone who had lived in that house his entire life.
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
Then I noticed something in the photograph.
One of the boxes had been opened.
Inside were old folders, school certificates, and a thick blue envelope that I recognized immediately.
It contained documents my mother had kept for years.
My birth certificate.
My Social Security card.
Copies of my school records.
And some paperwork my father had left behind before he disappeared from our daily lives.
I zoomed in on the image.
The blue envelope was sitting on top of everything else.
It had been placed there deliberately.
I couldn't tell whether Derek had opened it, but I remembered seeing that envelope on the shelf in my bedroom before I'd left for work the previous afternoon.
Someone had gone through my things after packing them.
I called my mother.
She answered after several rings.
"What?""
The single word made me close my eyes.
"Hi, Mom.""
"I'm busy.""
"I just got a message about picking up my belongings.""
"Yes. Derek thought it would be easier to organize everything in the garage.""
"Did anyone go through my documents?""
There was a pause.
"Why?""
"Because the envelope with my personal records is sitting on top of an open box.""
"I don't know what you're talking about.""
"Can you ask Derek?""
Her voice immediately hardened.
"Why do you keep dragging him into everything?""
I gripped the phone.
"He's the one who packed my things.""
"And he did a lot of work doing it.""
I almost laughed.
A lot of work?
My entire life had been stuffed into boxes, and I was supposed to thank the man who had done it.
"Mom, I just want my documents back.""
"Then arrange a time to pick them up.""
"Can I come this evening?""
"No.""
"Why not?""
"Because Derek and I have plans.""
I stared at the wall.
"You can't give me fifteen minutes to collect my birth certificate?""
"You can come Saturday.""
It was Wednesday.
I took a breath.
"Fine. Saturday.""
"And please don't come here looking for an argument.""
"I haven't been looking for an argument.""
"That's not how Derek sees it.""
I felt something inside me go cold.
"Of course it isn't.""
"What does that mean?""
"Nothing. I'll come Saturday.""
I ended the call before she could respond.
For several minutes, I sat in the employee break room, staring at my phone.
Then Marcus sent me another message.
He'd been looking at rental listings for me.
One room was available in a shared house across town, but the deposit was $500, and the landlord wanted proof of steady income.
I could afford the deposit.
Barely.
I sent the landlord a message and arranged to view the room after work.
It was small, with a narrow bed, a desk, and a window facing a brick wall.
The kitchen was shared with three other tenants.
The bathroom was down the hallway.
It wasn't much.
But the landlord was willing to consider my grocery store pay stubs, and I could move in the following week if everything checked out.
For the first time since I'd seen those boxes, I felt a little hope.
Then my phone rang.
It was my mother.
I answered immediately.
"Mom?""
"I've been thinking," she said.
My heart lifted before I could stop it.
"About what?""
"About Saturday.""
"Okay.""
"Derek doesn't want you coming inside the house.""
The hope disappeared.
"What?""
"He thinks it would be better if you collected everything from the garage.""
I looked at the empty room around me.
"So I'm not allowed inside my own home anymore?""
"Please don't start.""
"I'm asking a question.""
"You're not living there now. We need boundaries.""
I swallowed hard.
"Fine. I'll collect my things from the garage.""
"Good.""
She sounded relieved.
Then, just before she hung up, I heard Derek speaking in the background.
"Ask him about the paperwork.""
My mother went quiet.
I sat up straighter.
"What paperwork?""
She covered the phone badly, but I could still hear her.
"I don't know.""
Derek said something else, too quietly for me to understand.
Then my mother returned to the call.
"Saturday at ten. Don't be late.""
"Mom, what paperwork are you talking about?""
"Nothing you need to worry about.""
"Then why did Derek just ask you to bring it up?""
Her breathing changed.
"Stop listening to things that aren't your business.""
I stared at the phone.
My paperwork.
My belongings.
My home.
Apparently, none of it was my business anymore.
"Okay," I said quietly.
"Goodbye.""
The call ended.
I sat motionless, remembering the blue envelope in the photograph.
For the first time, I wondered whether my belongings had been packed simply to get me out of the house.
May you like
Or whether Derek had discovered something among my things that he wanted to keep me from finding.
And if that was true, Saturday morning might reveal something far more painful than the fact that my mother had thrown me out.
