Michael sat on the edge of his bed, thinking about Sloan. Two weeks and six months from now, she’d be home. Whatever home was. Renee, their mom, had never really given them a home. It was hard not to hate her for it. Aunt Grace said not to give up on her sister, but it was too late for that. Sloan was going to adopt him. She would have done it before she left, but she wasn't eighteen yet. Today she turned eighteen.

  It was raining outside. Not the kind of weather anyone wished for on their birthday. Aunt Grace's apartment was hot because she was always cold and kept the heat up regardless of the outside temperature. Sloan hadn’t emailed this week. He wondered if she’d emailed their mom or Aunt Grace, but wasn’t desperate enough to ask.

  His absent sister's face was everywhere. She was a popular meme, all over TikTok, Instagram, and probably Facebook, although only old people had Facebook. She looked happy, and maybe she was happy. Maybe she was happy she was gone. Living with Aunt Grace was almost as bad as living with their mom. Last night, he’d pushed a chair up against his door before falling asleep. Aunt Grace’s friends were disgusting.

  Sloan had taught him the chair trick a long time ago. He’d worn Spider-Man pajamas back then. Sloan had always worn a regular T-shirt and shorts to bed. He couldn't remember a time his sister had worn themed anything. Sloan had never seemed much like a kid to him, and themed clothing was definitely a kid thing.

  Michael remembered the first chair against the door had happened on a school night. They’d eaten macaroni and cheese and hot dogs for dinner. He wasn't as certain about dinner as he was about the Spider-Man pajamas, but that's what they'd eaten most nights of their childhood. Whatever Renee had made had been cleaned up and put away while they lay on the floor in Sloan’s room, Candyland strewn across her carpet.

  “Dang, you always get the pictures,” Sloan had said. “I don’t even know why I play. You always win.”

  Michael remembered laughing and scooting his game piece all the way to the gingerbread man as Sloan drew another card.

  “Wow, I get to move one red tile.”

  “Draw again,” Michael had said

  “Thanks, little bro! How'd I get so lucky?”

  “You're not lucky to have me for a brother.”

  “The hell I'm not,” Sloan had said, grabbing his big toe.

  “No one at school thinks I’m lucky.”

  “Well, they’ve never seen lucky before, then.”

  “I think Brandon Moss is lucky.”

  “Brandon Moss? The one who can’t tie his shoes?”

  “No, that’s Brandon Lane. Brandon Moss is the luckiest kid in our school.”

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “For what?” Sloan had asked.

  “His parents are rich.”

  “Well, he's probably gonna be messed up then.”

  Michael, confused by his sister's remark and likely too tired to finish the game, had thrown the deck of playing cards high into the air and belly-laughed.

  “Well, no one's winning that round!” Sloan had said, reaching to pick up the cards.“Rich people get messed up, Mikey. They don’t always learn the right lessons. They think they can do whatever they want, which means they usually don't grow up.”

  “But being rich sounds fun.”

  “Mom grew up rich.”

  Michael had not known this.

  “Where's all the money?” he’d asked, confused because Renee never had any money.

  “Well, that’s a good question. Mom went to college. Did I ever tell you that?”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, but she didn't graduate. Her parents stopped paying because she wouldn’t go to class.”

  “She should have gone. Ms. Warren says when we miss school, we're starving our brains.”

  “Well, Ms. Warren missed plenty of school when she found out her husband was on Bumble. Mom wanted to be an elementary teacher."

  “Why didn’t she go to class?”

  “Priorities,” Sloan had replied. “Mom chose fun over growing up. That’s what having money does. She used it on drugs, alcohol, and trips to the beach. Stuff like that.”

  “She never takes us to the beach.”

  “Yeah, she only takes men to the beach.”

  "Where did she get the money?"

  "Grandma and Grandpa."

  “Why don’t Grandma and Grandpa help us? We need money.”

  “She won’t take it. Mom says their money comes with strings attached.”

  “What’s strings attached?” Michael had asked.

  “It’s like if I promise to keep a secret, but then keep asking you for favors like the last piece of pizza or letting me shower first. And if you don’t do what I say, I threaten to tell your secret.”

  “Oh,” Michael had said, still not really understanding.

  But then their mom burst into the room and stepped onto the Candyland board, causing her to bobble and spill wine on Sloan's carpet.

  “Have you been giving Randy a show?” Renee had blurted out inches from Sloan's face.

  “Ewww, God no, Mom. What the fuck? He’s my Dad,” Sloan had said

  Michael remembered that part because he had never known who Sloan's dad was until the night she taught him the chair trick.

  “Well, Randy says you’re a better lay than me, and that got me wondering why my daughter thinks she can put her hands on my man.”

  Michael hadn’t understood what his mom was saying, but he'd recognized the look on Sloans’s face. His sister had become visibly unglued.

  “I wouldn’t touch any man you bring in this house,” Sloan had screamed. “I’m not a drunk whore like you.”

  And then Randy had walked in the room, and things got worse.

  “Do you recognize these?” Renee had asked, pulling up Sloan’s t-shirt, exposing her bare chest.

  “Renee, stop this baby. This ain’t right what you’re doing. That’s our little girl. You’re talking crazy, what’s coming out of your mouth.”

  But before their mom could decide if she was doing the right thing, Sloan had pinned her to the ground, a ballpoint pen angled like a dagger in her left hand.

  “You wouldn't do it,” Renee had slurred.

  “You think that, but I could do it and will do it under two specific conditions. One is you ever threatening me again. And the second is you hurting or keeping Michael from me.”

  “Sloan, let your mama go,” Randy had said softly.

  And Sloan had done it, rolled right off Renee, and lowered the pen. Randy and their mom had gone downstairs, and Sloan had propped the chair against the door in case they tried to get back in. Michael had never seen Randy again after that night.

  But not ever seeing Sloan again wasn't going to happen. She'd promised him she'd come home. And now that she was officially eighteen, she'd give him a home. Sloan's money from going to Mars would pay for them to have a really nice home, too, he thought. He hoped the money wouldn't mess them up the way it had messed up their mom. He wouldn't choose to just do whatever he wanted. He would finish college and earn enough money so his kids would never have to learn the chair-against-the-door trick to feel safe.