She stomped off toward her bedroom as Patrick began to laugh beneath me, and I froze as his body jolted with his chuckles. He was rubbing against me in all the ways I’d ignored when we’d dropped to the couch hours earlier.

“Well, that was…” I wasn’t even sure what to say. My bewilderment must have shown on my face because he suddenly stopped laughing.

“Did I not tell ye I’d fix it?” he asked calmly, laying his palm against my cheek.

“But why would she—”

“If ye’ve not noticed, me mum’s adopted ye. Nuttin’ for it now. Yer stuck.”

“But I can’t pay rent, I can’t even buy a toothbrush—”

“Ye won’t pay rent.”

I jerked my body away from him and stood, running my fingers down my ponytail. I couldn’t just live there without paying anything. It made my stomach ache to even think of taking advantage like that. Peg got along okay, but she wasn’t exactly rolling in it. Feeding another person would be a strain on what little money she had left over every week.

“I can see de wheels turnin’ in yer head. Stop.” He rose to his feet so he was looking down into my face. “We’ll straighten it all out later.”

Then he turned his head toward the bedroom and called out to his mom. “We need boxes!”

“We’ve got some at the store.” She replied as she came back out, then glanced down at my feet. “Ye’ll need some shoes.”

Before I knew it, we were in Peg’s small car and on our way to the grocer, where we picked up enough produce boxes to pack my entire room. With the boxes piled next to me in the back seat, we drove back to my house. Packing up my few childhood mementos and books with the help of two other people was surreal.

I’d done my own packing for years as we’d moved from one place to another. My parents had always provided what I needed, boxes and packing tape and newspaper to wrap things in, but it had been handed over with the understanding that I’d do the work myself. We always rented places that were already furnished, so there was no bed or dressers to deal with, and the packing went fairly quickly. Soon the room was once again as bare as the moment I’d first stepped inside it.

Peg left to cook dinner and throw my bedding in the wash, and I was sitting on my bed waiting for Patrick to come help me with the last couple of boxes when I heard my mother’s shrill voice in the hallway.

“Who the hell are you?”

I didn’t hear Patrick’s reply, but his thudding steps never faltered as he made his way back into my room.

“Are ye ready, love?” he asked as he stepped through the doorway, my mother close on his heels.

“Amy?” My mom’s voice was incredulous as she looked around the room. “What in the world?”

“We’ve only got these two boxes left,” I told her quietly, my throat tight in apprehension. “I can come back and clean the floors and window tomorrow.”

“No, ye won’t,” Patrick chimed in with a glower.

“What do you mean? What are you doing?” my mom asked.

I stared at her in confusion as she stepped into the room. “You said I only had two weeks, so I’m…” I flapped my hands in the air, unsure how to phrase my sentence in a way that wouldn’t set her off.

“You’re moving out?” she asked accusingly, her eyes darting between me and Patrick.

“Christ, woman! What did ye expect when ye kicked her out?” Patrick yelled.

“I did no such thing!”

My eyes watered as I stared at my mother and tried to comprehend what was happening. She had. She had kicked me out. She and my dad told me that I needed somewhere else to live. Why was she acting like I was the guilty party? Did Patrick believe her?

“Let’s go, love.” Patrick said quietly, lifting his chin toward the last box on my bed.

“Amy Jennifer Henderson, you’re not going anywhere!” Mom hissed at me, taking another step into the room. “Put that box down!”

I began to shake, the tone of her voice making me question my interpretation of the events of the last two weeks. It wasn’t as if my parents had mentioned once in passing that I needed to find somewhere else to live. They’d reminded me every day that the clock was ticking, so why was she behaving as if she had no idea what I was talking about?

“Go, Amy.” Patrick ordered again, jolting me out of my anxiety-induced stupor. I took two steps forward, stopping abruptly when my mother’s nails dug into my bicep.

She opened her mouth to speak, but she didn’t get a word out before Patrick was there, dropping the box he’d been holding and gripping my mom’s wrist so tight his knuckles went white.

“Don’t touch her again.”

She let go instantly, her eyes wide as she stumbled back into the hallway and I was frozen in place as I watched her cradle her injured wrist to her chest. The situation was deteriorating so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to comfort her, but she was staring at me as if she hated me even as her eyes began to fill with tears.

Suddenly, Patrick’s hand was firm against the small of my back, and he was ushering me down the hall.

“Your father will come get you!” she yelled to our backs. “Just wait until I tell him what you’ve done, you little whore! Get back here, Amy!” Mom screamed, completely livid as we continued through the house. Thankfully, Patrick’s presence at my side stopped her from following me, because I wasn’t sure what she would have done otherwise.