Page 7 of Roommate
“How was the desk job today?” my father asks as he shuffles into the room and pulls out the chair on his side. He says desk job the way some people say acupuncture. Like only a crazy person would get a job at an office.
“Fine. Busy.” I stick to one word answers with him. We have so little in common and don’t see eye to eye on anything.
“If they’re so busy, why don’t they take you full time?” Dad sits down gingerly, accepting a plate from my mother, looking down at the beige blob of food on it with a grimace.
Please don’t critique the food, I privately beg him. I can tolerate my dad’s ire toward me, but when he picks on my mother, I tend to lose my cool.
“I mean, how can you learn the ad business if you’re only there four afternoons a week?” he asks, picking up his fork with a wary glance at his dinner.
“I learn plenty,” I say mildly. The truth is that I haven’t said much about my job in Burlington. Nor have I said a word about the college course I’m hoping to take this spring. He won’t approve. And there’s no law that says I have to explain myself to him.
I’m just going to do my own thing and give the bare minimum amount of information to anyone who asks. That’s how you keep the peace in this house.
“You didn’t go to the gym?” my mother asks, just to keep the conversation flowing.
A wave of discomfort rolls through me, because the question makes me think of Roderick. Again. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to think of that guy and not feel embarrassed. “I almost made it to the gym. But Kyle called me and sent me home to do his chores instead.”
“It is his night, isn’t it?” my mother asks. “Where is that boy?”
“Tending bar for a couple hours, for extra cash.” I shovel in some more of my mother’s casserole and chew so I won’t say what I’m thinking.
“It’s good to earn extra cash,” my father says, excusing Kyle. “We’re going to have a tough season around here.”
“Why?” I set down my fork. “Did we lose an animal?”
“No.” He shakes his head.
That’s when the kitchen door opens and Kyle steps through, grinning. “Am I just in time for dinner?”
“Yes you are!” my father says, smiling for the first time, because his eldest—his boy—is home.
“It’s my super power.” Kyle hangs his coat on a hook.
“Sally, get him a plate,” my dad says.
My mom gets up and makes Kyle a plate, while my brother slides into his chair. He plops twenty bucks on the table in front of me. “Thanks for your help.”
“Sure,” I grunt, wishing I’d never made a big deal about it in the first place. I tuck the bill into my pocket anyway. My rent fund can use it.
Mom sets a plate in front of my brother, and then takes her seat again. “Since Kyle’s home, we might as well talk about this winter.” My father’s scowl tells me I won’t like whatever she’s about to say. “Your father is having back surgery. Soon. He’s going to be out of commission for months.”
“Weeks,” my father corrects gruffly.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s a spinal fusion. Major surgery, with a long recovery time.”
Spinal fusion. Yeesh. I’ll be googling that later, but it already sounds dreadful. I feel a rare pang of sympathy for Dad. But when I look up at him, the steely look in his eyes asks for no pity.
“Okay,” I say, draining my glass. “You know Kyle and I will pitch in.” I give my brother a sideways glance.
“Yeah, we’ve got this,” he says. “It’s good that you’re doing this before calving and planting.”
“That’s the idea,” my mother says. “It’s going to be a rough time for a little while. But I knew you’d both pitch in. It’s the Shipley way.”
“Right,” I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “I can give you weekend afternoons and Mondays. I don’t go to the office on Mondays.”
“What if you found a job closer to home instead?” my father asks.
Wait, what? “You think that’s so easy to do?”
