Dad froze, his hand dropping to his side.
The neighbor, looking thoroughly awkward, shoved three hundred dollars into my hand. "For... nutrition," he mumbled, dragging his dog upstairs to escape the family drama.
He shook his head as he went. Even a stranger understood what my parents didn't.
Mom and Dad stood rooted to the spot. Their expressions shifted from anger to confusion, and finally, to something that looked painfully like guilt.
I didn't let it linger. I limped past them, squeezed through the doorway, and slammed the door in their faces.
I livestreamed straight through until midnight.
My heart ached, my leg throbbed, but I kept the smile plastered on. When I finally signed off, a coworker went downstairs to grab our takeout. She came back looking uneasy.
"Sam... your parents are still at the door."
I went to the entrance. They were still there, shivering in the night air.
Mom stared at the greasy takeout box in my hand. "Sam, your health is terrible. You can't eat that garbage. Come home with us. Mom will make you chicken soup."