Lila
Mom’s suitcase was still in the hallway when Marcus told me the rules.
She’d left twenty minutes ago for a week-long work trip. The house smelled like her perfume and the coffee she’d rushed out with. I was in the kitchen in sleep shorts and one of her old t-shirts, barefoot, still half-asleep, when he came in from the garage. He didn’t say goodbye to her. He looked at me instead.
“Lock the door.”
I did. The click sounded louder than it should have. He set his keys on the counter and leaned against it, arms crossed, watching me like he’d been waiting for the car to pull out of the driveway.
“While she’s gone, things change,” he said. “No panties in the house. You answer when I text. You come when I tell you to. You hold every load I give you and you don’t clean up until I say. If
