I texted her, “Hey, is that roommate thing still an option?”
She replied almost immediately.
“Yep, still looking. Why, you interested?”
“Yeah, maybe. Can we talk after work?”
Alicia’s response was short and sweet.
“Of course.”
That afternoon, I stayed late at school, waiting until the halls were quiet before heading to Alicia’s classroom. She was sitting at her desk grading papers.
“What’s up?” she asked, looking up from her stack of essays.
I hesitated for a second, unsure how much to share. Finally, I said, “I’m thinking about moving out of my parents’ place. They’re making things complicated.”
Elisia nodded like she understood without me having to explain.
“The offer is still open,” she said. “It’s not a big place, but it’s clean, and we’d split everything down the middle. Rent’s $800 a month, utilities included.”
That was a little higher than I’d been hoping for, but it was doable.
“When would you need someone to move in?” I asked.
“Yesterday,” she joked, then added, “But seriously, anytime. If you’re in, the room’s yours.”
I told her I’d let her know by the end of the week, but in my head, I’d already made up my mind. This was my way out.
Then I had to figure out how to leave without creating even more drama.
If my parents caught wind of my plan too soon, I knew they’d try to sabotage it. They’d guilt me, argue with me, maybe even go as far as raising my rent immediately to stop me from saving anything.
So, I kept quiet.
I started packing little by little, focusing on the essentials: clothes, personal items, and anything I couldn’t afford to replace. I stored everything in the trunk of my car, hiding it under a blanket in case anyone got curious.
At the same time, I started documenting everything just in case. I took pictures of my room, my furniture, my electronics, anything that could potentially become a point of contention later.
I knew from experience that Martha had a way of forgetting what belonged to whom, and I wasn’t about to lose my stuff in the chaos of leaving.
One night, while everyone was asleep, I printed out a letter formally giving my 30-day notice. I done some research online and found out that even though I wasn’t technically a tenant in the legal sense, it was still smart to have everything in writing.
The last thing I wanted was for them to accuse me of bailing without warning.
I didn’t sleep much that night, constantly checking the clock and listening for any noises that might mean someone was awake. Finally, at 6:00 in the morning, I slid the envelope under the door to my parents’ bedroom.
The reaction was immediate.
By the time I got home from work that day, Mom and Dad were waiting for me in the living room.
“What’s this?” Dad asked, holding up the letter like it was some kind of personal attack.
“It’s my notice,” I said, keeping my voice steady.