I looked at Vanessa. She had dropped the tearful act. Her eyes were bright with victory.
My stomach churned. I could calculate the numbers in my head. Market rate in this neighborhood would eat me alive. My student loan payments, utilities, groceries, the small margin of savings I’d fought to build. I could not afford for them to raise rent to punish me.
My anger pressed against my ribs, trapped there.
“Fine,” I said finally, the word tasting like metal. “Vanessa can stay. Temporarily.”
“Wonderful,” my mother said instantly, voice bright like the earlier coldness hadn’t happened. “I knew you’d do the right thing. You girls have fun.”
The line clicked dead.
Vanessa sprang up, energized. “Great,” she said. “Which one’s my room?”
“My office,” I said automatically, my throat tight.
“Perfect,” she replied, as if she hadn’t heard the bitterness in my voice. She grabbed a suitcase handle and started toward the second bedroom.
