Page 126 of Sugar

“Why is there some squatter…” My words trailed off as I walked in on my parents in a hushed conversation.

Arms crossed, my dad’s shoulders were slumped like the weight of the world was resting entirely on them. It was jarring since he was usually a stickler about how proper posture is vital for bone aging. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and he looked like the physical manifestation of the word exhausted.

Mom didn’t look much better. She scowled up at him before quickly masking her displeasure with a smile at me. “If you’reasking about dinner, it’ll be done in a half hour, so I don’t want to hear any dramatics about how you’re wasting away.”

“From me? Never.”

But only because my already anxious stomach is now churning so badly, I doubt I could swallow a bite.

I’d always been close to my parents. They were just the right mix of coddling and strict, giving me room to make my own mistakes while protecting me when they could.

That was why I didn’t expect to get much of an answer when I asked, “Is everything okay?”

They shared a look that was much less annoyed. Instead, it was filled with the usual connection and love that I’d grown up seeing from them. The kind that made it clear that they were each other’s rock.

“Just work, Rad Mad,” Dad said. “I’m getting too old. I think it might be time to hang up the ol’ implants and retire.”

He’d been saying the same thing for as long as I could remember. But there wasn’t the same thread of humor in his voice. And he was definitely in the age range where retirement wasn’t out of the question.

And that was without the addition of the new bags under his eyes.

Maybe risking a surprise discovery is better than adding to his stress.

I’m not a coward.

I’m thoughtful.

A thoughtful coward.

Unfortunately, my evasion decision was made for me when my dad skewered me with a look. “To what do we owe this surprise visit?”

“Can’t a daughter just come home to see you?”

“In the middle of the week?”

“You know Wednesdays are my short day.”

His shoulders loosened slightly. “So, you’re still in school?”

“Yes! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re here to tell us that you’ve dropped out to backpack Europe or to join the circus.”

“I don’t have the dexterity for balloon animals,” I said. “And I’m still committed to journalism and am having a good year. I think my lowest grade is an eighty-seven.”

Wide smiles split both of my parents’ faces, but it was my dad who pointed out, “And you thought this year would be a struggle.”

That was before I knew I would have some extra ambition to get my assignments done early…

“How’s the paper?” he asked, presenting me with a gift-wrapped opening too perfect to decline.

Here goes everything…

“Good. I, uh, am attending a movie premiere in a few days and covering it for The Chronicle.”

His eyes widened, but my mom just looked gleeful.

Too gleeful.

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