Page 30 of Desirous

“You should live in a better place, Katerina,” he says with a hint of disgust in his voice as he looks around at my apartment.

That’s what he says every time he comes here. I’d live in a better place if I could afford it, but since that lovely bitch Deidre just decreased my pay by two dollars an hour, I’ll be lucky if I can swing rent here without picking up hours at another job.

I don’t want to think about that today, though, so I simply smile and make a joke about all the good places being taken in Tampa. He narrows his eyes at my lame attempt at humor, like he can’t imagine how we could be related since I’m nowhere as self-assured as he always is.

My mother takes a seat next to him and asks, “Honey, why are your eyes all red?”

Since I don’t want to say anything about crying most of the night, I shrug and play it off with a lie. “I think it’s allergies. Pollen. It gets pretty bad down here.”

“You never had allergies when you lived in New York. I swear you’d do better if you lived up there again,” she says, ending her claim with a heavy sigh.

The last thing I want to do is get into a discussion about how I should move back up north, so I change the subject, hoping to put the focus on them instead of me. “So why did you guys come to visit?”

For the first time since I walked into the living room, my father smiles. “I have big news. I’m retiring. Of course, you’ll be expected to attend my retirement party, Katerina.”

As if I can afford airfare to New York on my recently reduced salary. I don’t want to talk about that, though, so I simply nod and say, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Dad. Congratulations! Retirement is a big deal. Are you looking forward to being able to do what you want every day of the week?”

He doesn’t answer, but his less than thrilled expression tells me he isn’t. If that’s the case, why is he retiring?

And then my mother speaks up, and I know the answer to that question.

“And we have another piece of good news, honey. We’re going to sell the house and move down here to be close to you. Isn’t that wonderful?”

I feel my mouth drop open as shock rushes through me. Move down here to be close to me? Why? I’m twenty-five years old. I don’t need my parents to be hanging around all the time, which is what will happen if they move here.

“Here? Really? I didn’t think you liked Florida, Mom. You always say the heat is oppressive, and Dad, what will you do with all your new time off without the city nearby to entertain you?” I ask, my voice verging on panic.

“You have a city right here.”

“Yes, but Tampa isn’t like New York. That’s the greatest city in the world. You always say that. Ever since I was a little girl, you’ve said New York is the greatest city in the world. There’s Broadway and Little Italy and Chinatown and Chelsea. I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen more than one or two art galleries the entire time I’ve lived here.”

My father gives me a strange look, as if he understands the last thing I want in my life is to have my parents living right nearby. My mother, though, remains blissfully ignorant to my fear that they’ll go through with moving down here.

“Everywhere has air conditioning, so it’ll fine,” she says, dashing my hopes that the Florida heat would keep her nearly a thousand miles away. “My friend Monica thought she’d hate it, but when she moved down here to live with her daughter and son-in-law after they had their baby, she told me she grew to love it. She says I’ll forget all about New York in a New York minute.”

Fantastic. I think I need a drink. Is nine in the morning too early to get drunk to forget about your life?

Standing up abruptly from the couch, my father announces they’re going house hunting. “So get ready. We want you with us because we don’t know a thing about the area.”

“Dad, I have work,” I say, even though I’m not scheduled for hours.

That excuse doesn’t deter him. Waving his hand like he’s making magic, he says, “Call off. This is important. It’s not like you see your parents every day.”

Except I will if they move down here.

“I can’t. I took off all last week for that reality show.”

God, I hate saying that.

My father huffs his disgust. “Well, that was a waste of your time.”

His utter disapproval hurts like getting smacked across the face. “Why? Because I’m not good enough to compete against great chefs?”

Shaking his head, he grumbles, “Because it’s beneath you. You’re a Truesdale.”

Unsure what he means, I say, “Well, it wasn’t beneath Alex March, the head chef at CK. He’s one of the competitors.”

My father’s face contorts into an expression of revulsion, and his eyes open wide in shock. “It’s beneath him too. What is wrong with this part of the country? Do people here not understand chefs of your caliber and his don’t belong on some silly reality show?”

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