A Night With The Porn Star

That night, I stayed at the amusement park until almost dawn.

I had just returned home and gotten into bed when my phone rang. I stared at the caller ID "Mila" without moving.

After hanging up on her three times, I finally picked up the fourth time she called.

Before I could even get a word in, Mila Parker yelled, "Jared Parker, why the hell are you acting up in the middle of the night? Leo won an award last night after working hard for 20 years. What's wrong with us celebrating with him?"

Her voice turned frosty. "Can't you just be a little more understanding? Do you really have to upset all of us during the holidays?"

Understanding.

It was that word again. Ever since the day I rejoined this family, it had always reminded me to yield, keep quiet, and smile.

I stared at the gray sky and finally spoke. "Mila, Happy New Year."

Mila paused. All the anger she'd come ready to unleash got stuck in her throat.

I didn't give her a chance to react and continued in that same flat, emotionless tone. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just think you guys are the ones who really look like a family."

With that, I hung up.

For a moment, there was only silence around me. My phone turned dark, reflecting my blank face.

I stood up and went over to the huge walk-in closet. Then, I pulled open the bottom drawer and took out the old canvas bag I'd brought with me from underneath a pile of fancy boxes. I unzipped it and started stuffing my old T-shirts, my sketchbook, and the mechanical pencil I'd been using for years into it.

Halfway through it, my phone rang again. This time, it wasn't Mila. It was my mom, Delilah Smith.

I didn't answer. I hit the button to reject the call and kept folding my old clothes one by one, putting them into the bag. There weren't many, and the bag was full in no time.

My phone rang once more. This time, it was my dad, Mitchell Parker.

I rejected his call too.

A moment later, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from him, and he was still using that commanding tone of the head of the family.

It read, "Leo feels so guilty. If you're done throwing a tantrum, come home now and apologize to him."

I didn't reply.

There was another important thing that I needed to do. I pulled out my desk drawer, where a black card lay quietly inside.

This was the money they gave me when I first returned to the family. They told me to buy whatever I wanted and not embarrass them.

I never spent it, though.

I took it out and placed it on the clean table. Then, I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of it. I opened the dead-silent family group chat, where everyone only ever sent holiday greetings, and sent the photo.

I typed, "Thanks for taking care of me. I haven't spent any of this money. The password is Leo's birthday. From now on, I'll take care of myself."