Page 15 of Christmas with Brother's Best Friends
“So, Emma, tell us about your job. How long will it last? I hope it’s a good while,” Mom tells me.
Here we go.
“It’s only for this one project. We’ll be done by the end of this month.” I fix my plate with what’s left thanks to my brothers.
Mom hums under her breath, and I can feel the concern and disappointment rolling off her in waves. “Aren’t you tired of jumping from job to job? Don’t you want to settle at one for more than a few weeks?”
“It’s not really jumping from job to job. I’m just working for different clients. I run a freelance business,” I remind her for what feels like the hundredth time.
“But you don’t have any benefits doing that, right? No health insurance. No retirement plan,” Dad speaks up from the head of the table before biting down loudly on his garlic bread.
“She can get those things on her own,” Ethan says. “They don’t always have to be through an employer.”
My eyes flicker to his, my mouth twitching in a faint but grateful smile.
“It would be easier if she got it through an employer,” Mom replies. “I just don’t see how it’s enjoyable jumping from place to place, chasing down all these clients who give such short projects. It sounds exhausting.”
I don’t want to admit that it has been exhausting in different ways, but that’s certainly the truth. But it’s also exhausting working an office job or being a construction worker. Every job causes its own form of exhaustion, and I can bet my brothers are exhausted too.
“You think I’m just winging it,” I snap before I can stop myself. “But I’ve spent years building a business from scratch. My portfolio is stacked. I’ve worked with major clients. And I’m not chasing scraps—I’m delivering polished work that companies fight to hire me for. I’m setting myself up for bigger, longer contracts with huge companies. Like SyncUp,” I say, trying not to sound as defensive as I feel.
I’m no longer the freelancer scrambling around to pick up any client that’ll take mercy on me and throw a few dollars my way for days of work. My parents still see me like that, though.
“The guys were really impressed with her past work,” Andrew tells our parents. “They’re lucky to have her.”
“They’re really great to work with,” I reply, internally wincing at how eager I sound.
“They can’t offer you something full time so that you can settle down here?” Mom asks.
“I’m just doing this one project for them. That’s all they need me for.” A weight settles on my chest.
To them, it just sounds like I’m not good enough to keep on. That’s so far from the truth, but their experiences in the job market are so different from mine.
“Well, what are you going to do after this project? Are you going to stay or leave again?” Mom replies, firing off question after question.
“I don’t know,” I sigh, my frustration starting to seep into my voice.
“I only ask because we never know your next move. Are you even dating?”
There’s another bomb dropped on my head. Granted, romance has certainly been on the brain more than usual for me lately because of three certain someones. Other good looking men don’t stand a chance against them, and I can only hope that this highly inappropriate crush will go away once the project ends.
“None of us are dating right now, Mom. We’re too focused on our careers,” Ethan tells her.
Mom shrugs. “Well, it’s different for you two.”
“Why is that?” I question her.
Now, Mom sighs as Dad frowns and sets down his fork. Like the tension is getting too much for him to keep eating.
“They work more than forty hours a week outside of their home,” Mom replies. “When would they have time to date?”
“I’m busy too,” I say, feeling a lump grow in my throat as everyone looks at me. I’m so tired of being compared to my brothers when I put my blood, sweat, and tears into my own career. “And after this project, I’m going to land a huge contract and be even more successful.”
“We know that, honey,” Dad tells me before going back to eating.
Mom fidgets with her fork like she wants to say something else, but she sips on her wine instead, awkward silence filling the dining room.
I stare at my plate as my brothers try to fill the silence by talking about random things like the weather and the game playing next week. My stomach sours, and my appetite takes a nosedive, making me leave half of my food on my plate once dinner is finished.
