“Okay,” he says, finally. “Here’s the deal.”
Mandy stands up, too fast. The trailer wobbles. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare lecture me about money. You’re the one who bought a floor-model TV from the Rent-A-Center.”
“So you want a gassy baby? You want her to wake up the neighbors? We got Mr. Henderson next door who yells at clouds and Mrs. Pena who works nights. They hear this?” He gestures to the screaming infant. “We’re evicted.”
“I regret the timing!” she shouts. CeCe stirs, then settles. “I love you, you idiot. You’re kind. You’re actually funny. And you’re the only person who isn’t terrified of my mother. But we are living in a tin can held together by spite and your optimism.”
Mandy, her blonde hair a wild nest, glares from the rocker. “The purple can costs eight dollars more, Georgie. Eight dollars! That’s a full synthetic oil change you’re losing.”
The First Fight