My dad was sitting on the edge of the couch, his cane resting between his knees. My mom was in the kitchen, aggressively scrubbing a pot that was already clean.
“You’re still here,” I said.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” my dad said, not blinking. “You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t do this to your own blood.”
“Do you understand why this is happening?” I asked one last time. I needed to know. I needed to hear if there was any remorse buried under the ego.
My dad looked me in the eye and said, “Your son brings this on himself. He acts out. He doesn’t listen. We weren’t going to reward bad behavior with a nice meal. Maybe next time you should teach him how to sit still if you want him included.”
The air left the room.
“That’s it,” I whispered.
“What?”
“That was the final nail,” I said. “I’m changing the locks tonight. If you aren’t out, I’m calling the sheriff to escort you off the property for trespassing. And don’t think I won’t. I have the receipts, Dad. I have the utility bills. I have the proof that you are guests in my investment.”
I walked out to the driveway where a white van had just pulled up. The locksmith.
My parents watched from the window as I shook the man’s hand. That was when the reality hit them. They saw the drill.
My dad rushed out the front door, stumbling a bit. “You can’t do this! This is insane!”
