One Closet Too Far

My mobile screen faded to black.

The crowd pushed me toward the exit.

Since my father, Thomas Silver, wasn’t there to pick me up, I gave him a call.

“Oh, Miles.

“My memory must be failing me. Your brother, Sebastian, is craving lamb this morning, so I came down to the market. It slipped my mind to pick you up.”

Thomas apologized to me. “Sorry, son.

“Why don’t you catch a cab?”

Not wanting to make a big fuss over the matter, I took up on his idea.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened anyway.

I typed my family’s home address into the ride-share app and got a ride.

The driver was a friendly, chatty guy.

“Whoa, you’re going to the best luxury complex around here. I remember that the place cost a fortune at launch.”

I smiled. “It was.”

At 30,000 a square, and almost 2,000 square feet, the scale was massive.

Even after putting two million dollars down for the down payment, I had to pay nearly twenty grand for the monthly mortgage.

The upfront payment wiped out my savings from ten years of grinding in Port Coastal, the capital city. To keep up with the mortgage, I had to pinch every penny.

I took the 5-hour train ride home because I couldn’t justify the extra hundred bucks by plane.

As I rubbed my numb legs, my phone rang.

It was my mother, Teresa Silver.

“I’m not home right. Get settled at the hotel. I’ll head to you in a bit.

“I haven’t had time to give the house a good clean, so you should stay elsewhere.”

I typed, “I can let myself in since I know the code to open the door. I bought some gifts to bring over.”

For some reason, my mind flew back to the post I had read.

Deleting the draft to Teresa, I opened the link to the post.

The thirty and single bit lined up with my situation.

However, I would only come back once a year, so that didn’t quite fit the description.

I did remember on my trip back last year, I took a bottle of yogurt out of the fridge since the heat was getting to me.

Cass Silver, my sister-in-law, gave me an attitude when she caught me quenching my thirst upon her return.

She didn’t hold back on the snide remarks at the dinner table.

“You might want to watch what you eat. It’s harder to find a partner when you let yourself go.

“It isn’t as easy to earn a living in our sleepy town than where you are. The prices are ridiculous. I don’t know how we survive.

“You’re pretty generous to yourself. I bet you burn through a ton of cash every month.”

In a fit of frustration, I headed out of the apartment and bought two bulks of yogurt to shut her up.

With the yogurt incident playing in my mind, I couldn’t brush the post off as a coincidence.

The post gained quite some traction.

Someone commented, “Who bought the place? If your husband’s family paid for it, your brother-in-law has every right to come home for a visit.”

The original poster snapped back, “The in-laws bought the place for my husband and me. He has no claim to the apartment.”

I sighed.

Every penny of the place was mine. I paid for everything.

The purchase was simply to provide my parents with a better place to live.

I intended to move back home in another two years, and we could share the place.