Chapter 2 - Three Months Became Forever
Susan and Tyler arrived on a humid Saturday morning in July with enough luggage to suggest they were crossing an ocean instead of staying for a few months.
There were eight large boxes, four suitcases, two plastic storage tubs, a television Tyler insisted he needed for gaming, and several framed family photographs Susan immediately began placing around the living room.
Kloe noticed it.
She noticed everything.
But she said nothing.
At first, Susan was almost excessively polite.
Every morning, she wiped down the kitchen counters before Kloe woke up. She cooked dinner twice during the first week and insisted Kloe sit while she cleared the dishes.
“You work so hard,” Susan said warmly. “Let me make myself useful.”
Kloe appreciated it.
Tyler was less impressive.
He slept until nearly noon, wandered into the kitchen wearing headphones, and spent several hours each afternoon sitting at the dining table with his laptop open.
Whenever Kloe passed him, he quickly clicked between windows.
“Job applications?” she asked one afternoon.
“Yeah.”
“How's it going?”
“Pretty good.”
That was always his answer.
Pretty good.
Nothing ever came from it.
Two weeks became four.
Four became eight.
By September, Kloe noticed something else.
Her grocery bill had nearly tripled.
Tyler ate constantly.
Protein shakes. Steaks. Frozen pizzas. Expensive energy drinks. Packages of deli meat Kloe had intended to take for lunch vanished overnight.
Susan had developed a habit of writing grocery requests on a whiteboard attached to the refrigerator.
At first, the list was reasonable.
Milk.
Eggs.
Bread.
Then it became strangely specific.
Organic salmon.
Imported olive oil.
Specialty coffee.
A particular brand of yogurt Susan liked.
One evening, Kloe came home after a thirteen-hour workday and found Susan standing beside the refrigerator.
“You didn't get the coffee,” Susan said.
Kloe stopped.
“What coffee?”
“The one I put on the board.”
“I didn't go shopping.”
Susan frowned as though Kloe had failed an assignment.
“We're almost out.”
“Then Mark can pick some up.”
Susan blinked.
There was a small pause.
Then she smiled.
“Of course.”
That smile bothered Kloe more than an argument would have.
Later that night, she mentioned it to Mark.
He laughed.
“My mom's just used to running a household.”
“This is my household.”
“I know.”
“Does she?”
Mark sighed.
“Come on, Kloe. Don't turn coffee into World War Three.”
She let it go.
That was her first mistake.
The second happened when Susan reorganized the kitchen.
Kloe arrived home one Friday and opened the cabinet where she had kept her plates for four years.
The cabinet contained spices.
She opened another.
Glasses.
Another.
Bowls.
Every drawer and cabinet had been rearranged.
“Susan?” Kloe called.
Her mother-in-law appeared from the hallway.
“Do you like it?”
Kloe stared at her.
“Where is everything?”
“I reorganized it. The old layout didn't make sense.”
“It made sense to me.”
Susan's smile tightened.
“Well, there are four people living here now.”
Kloe took a breath.
“One of the rules was no major changes without asking.”
Susan laughed lightly.
“Oh, sweetheart. I moved plates. I didn't tear down a wall.”
Before Kloe could answer, Mark walked in.
Susan immediately turned toward him.
“I think I've upset Kloe because I cleaned the kitchen.”
That wasn't what happened.
They both knew it.
Yet Mark looked at Kloe.
“Really?”
“I didn't say she couldn't clean. She reorganized every cabinet.”
Mark opened one.
“So?”
Kloe looked at him for several seconds.
Then she quietly put her bag down.
“Nothing.”
That night, she moved everything back.
The following morning, Susan moved half of it again.
It was subtle.
Small enough that complaining made Kloe sound unreasonable.
Large enough that ignoring it encouraged the next violation.
By October, Tyler had still not found steady work.
He claimed one interview had been canceled.
Another employer had “ghosted” him.
A warehouse job was apparently “not worth the commute.”
A restaurant position didn't pay enough.
Kloe finally asked him directly one evening.
“What kind of work are you actually willing to do?”
Tyler looked offended.
“I'm trying to find something that fits.”
“You said you were coming to Boston for work.”
“I am.”
“You've been here almost four months.”
Mark looked up from his plate.
“Kloe.”
“What?”
“Don't interrogate him at dinner.”
Tyler pushed his chair back.
“You know what? I'm not hungry anymore.”
He walked away.
Susan stared at Kloe.
“You embarrassed him.”
Kloe almost laughed.
“He's twenty-six.”
“Exactly. It's a difficult age.”
Kloe looked at Mark.
She expected him to react to that absurd statement.
He didn't.
That was when something inside her changed.
Not dramatically.
Not yet.
But she began keeping records.
Groceries.
Utilities.
Household purchases.
Money transferred from the joint checking account.
At the beginning of November, the original four-month deadline arrived.
Kloe waited until after dinner.
“Mark, can we talk?”
He knew exactly why.
“I was going to bring it up.”
“When are your mom and Tyler leaving?”
Susan, who was sitting in the living room, could hear them.
Mark lowered his voice.
“Tyler is close to something.”
“What?”
“A sales position.”
“Does he have an offer?”
“Not officially.”
“Then he isn't close.”
Mark rubbed his forehead.
“Could we give him another month?”
“No.”
“Kloe.”
“We agreed on four months.”
“My mom is also seeing a specialist for her knees.”
“Then she can finish the appointments. I'm not throwing her onto the sidewalk tomorrow. But we need a departure date.”
Susan suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“You don't have to whisper about me.”
Nobody spoke.
Susan folded her arms.
“I didn't realize staying with my own son required an expiration date.”
Kloe met her eyes.
“You're staying in my condo because I agreed to help.”
Susan's expression changed immediately.
“My condo.”
“Yes.”
There it was.
Two words Susan clearly hated hearing.
Mark stood.
“Kloe, that's enough.”
“No. It isn't.”
Susan gave a brittle laugh.
“You know, in my generation, when you married someone, their family became yours.”
“And family respects boundaries.”
Susan's face reddened.
“I have never been treated like such a burden.”
“I didn't call you a burden.”
“You didn't have to.”
Mark stepped between them.
“Everybody calm down.”
But Kloe was suddenly exhausted.
Not angry.
Just exhausted.
She walked into the bedroom and closed the door.
For the first time since they got married, Mark slept on the couch.
The following morning, he apologized.
Sort of.
“Mom feels unwelcome.”
“She was supposed to be temporary.”
“Can we extend it until January?”
Kloe stared at him.
“January first.”
“Yes.”
“And then they leave.”
“I promise.”
Kloe hated herself for agreeing.
But she did.
January arrived.
Nobody packed.
Instead, Tyler ordered a new gaming chair.
Susan bought curtains.
Not temporary curtains.
Custom curtains.
Kloe came home to find a man taking measurements near the dining-room windows.
“Excuse me?” she said.
The man turned.
“Susan asked me to measure for replacement blinds.”
Kloe stared toward the kitchen.
Susan walked out.
“Oh, good. You're home.”
“What is happening?”
“These blinds are ancient.”
“They're four years old.”
Susan waved dismissively.
“The living room needs warming up.”
Kloe turned to the installer.
“I'm sorry you came out here. Nothing is being changed. Please cancel the order.”
Susan's face hardened.
After the man left, she said, “You enjoy humiliating me.”
“You ordered work on my condo without asking.”
“It was supposed to be a gift.”
“A gift I apparently have to pay for?”
Susan didn't answer.
That evening, Kloe confronted Mark.
His response chilled her.
“Why does everything have to be about ownership?”
“Because you all keep forgetting who owns it.”
Mark stared at her.
Then he said quietly, “Maybe that's the problem.”
“What does that mean?”
“You hold it over everyone's head.”
Kloe stepped back.
“I bought this place before I married you.”
“I know.”
“With money I worked for and money my mother left me.”
“I said I know.”
“Then why are we even having this conversation?”
Mark didn't answer.
The next afternoon, Kloe returned from work early.
A large envelope was sticking out of the mailbox downstairs.
It was addressed to her condo.
But not to her.
SUSAN JOHNSON.
Kloe almost left it there.
Then she noticed the return address.
The condominium association's management office.
She carried it upstairs.
Susan was out.
Mark was still working.
Tyler's bedroom door was closed.
Kloe called the management office.
“This is Kloe Davis from Unit 5B. I received correspondence addressed to Susan Johnson.”
The woman on the phone went quiet.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Ms. Davis, I was actually planning to contact you.”
“Why?”
There was another pause.
“We received a renovation request for your unit.”
Kloe's stomach tightened.
“What renovation?”
“Kitchen cabinets, flooring, removal of one nonstructural partition, and some electrical work.”
Kloe gripped the phone.
“I didn't submit any renovation request.”
The woman hesitated.
“Well... the form has your name on it.”
Kloe stopped breathing.
“My name?”
“And your signature.”
The condo around her suddenly seemed completely silent.
Kloe walked slowly toward the kitchen table.
“Email me a copy.”
Five minutes later, it arrived.
She opened the attachment.
There was the application.
Her address.
Her unit number.
A proposed renovation budget of nearly forty thousand dollars.
And at the bottom of the final page—
KLOE DAVIS.
Written in a signature that looked almost exactly like hers.
Almost.
Kloe stared at it.
Then she heard the front door unlock.
Susan stepped inside carrying two shopping bags.
She saw the papers on the table.
Her face changed.
Only for half a second.
But Kloe saw it.
May you like
And in that half second, Kloe understood something terrifying.
Susan already knew exactly what she was looking at.
