“This isn’t extortion,” Sol’s mom responded. “It’s a deal. You see, we initially hired the PI just to check on you, make sure you were okay. But based on his reports, you’re not okay. You’re doing everything that got you into trouble in the first—”

“Instead of asking me if I was okay, you hired someone to spy on me, and then you use that information to bankrupt me?”

“That’s not how bankruptcy works, dear. See, you don’t even know what you’re—”

“I know that you’re not taking my fucking house.”

“Child, I’m tired of your mouth. Cut me off again, and I will close it. Do you accept the deal or not? I have souls to save and a steak to eat.”

Sol stared at the steaks; they were no longer steaming, but their smoky aroma still filled the room. She hadn’t felt hungry earlier, but suddenly those steaks were all she could think of.

“Why do you want the house?”

“We need the money,” her father replied.

“For what?” Sol asked, her eyes on her dad.

“That’s beyond the scope of this transaction,” her mother replied.

“No, that’s exactly the scope of this conversation. Why am I selling the house of my dead grandmother, that I acquired fair and square, that I signed for at the goddamn bank, that I cleaned up, that I fucking live in, to two piece-of-shit parents who don’t even have the decency to come to their only daughter’s graduation?”

Sol’s mother lunged forward, her robes cutting through the air. Her father immediately caught her, grabbing her at the torso and lifting her up. She didn’t resist. It reminded Sol of juvie. All that was missing was an unnecessary body slam and someone restraining her as well. Maybe some spit and a “Bitch, you don’t want this!” or two for added authenticity.

Sol’s mother stood still as she returned to the ground. Her curls were undisturbed, but it was clear that they were on her mind. Her arms were holstered to her sides, pinned, but her eyes kept shooting upward.

Equally tense, Sol surveyed her parents, her dad in his APD uniform, her mom in her church garb. Jerry used to call them “The Law and the Word.” Sol had always wondered what that made her.

The standoff continued, rain pouring, steaks cooling, air conditioning humming. Her father’s face matched his institutional tone: drab, straightforward, opaque. He’d initially opposed Sol moving in with Nana, his mother, when she started high school, but that opposition had quickly become thick, impenetrable silence.