They burst into snorting laughter. No one stopped them. No one ever did.
Lester, our pride and failure, leaned against the fridge and shouted across the kitchen, “Hey, Ma. Wash my clothes, yeah? My wife is busy right now. And bleach the white ones this time, unless you wanna ruin another set.”
“I’m not your maid,” I murmured.
“What was that?” he snapped.
“I said I’m not—”
He threw a half-empty soda can at the floor. “Then what the fuck are you? Because you sure as hell ain’t doing anything else in this house! You don’t bring money in.”
My blood boiled.
“I raised you,” I snapped. “Fed you. Stayed up when you had fevers. I’ve been working since before you were born.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve worked on smelling better. You smell like a rotten corpse,” one of the twins piped.
“Yeah,” snickered his brother, Nash. “It’s embarrassing just seeing her. Our classmates said she’s so ugly, they get scared when she shows up to pick us up. Like some cast member from The Walking Dead.”
They both burst into giggles. Then Edmund grabbed his pistol off the mantel, inspecting it like it mattered more than me.