Page 36 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“This is why you should’ve bought the ready-made one.”

My dad looks up again and his expression is nothing short of annoyance. “The men are working, Lorraine. Shouldn’t you be making us dinner? Or folding some laundry?”

“Your misogyny is the sexiest thing about you.”

He smiles and cocks a brow at her. “I can think of one other thing you find sexier.”

It’s time to step in. My parents are couple goals, really they are. Twenty years married and they still carry on like love-struck teenagers, but I wish they’d keep their banter behind closed doors. “Guys, no. I’m right here. I don’t need to hear that.”

“Don’t be jealous because you don’t get none, Dylan,” she quips, her tone unusually sassy. “It’s not our fault you have no game to get a girlfriend. Don’t blame us because you end up shaking hands with the sheriff every night.”

She thinks she got me there. This is just one way we keep the scales in balance. The rules are if you cry, you’re weak and if you laugh, you’re a loser. The not laughing part has become a game we play. It can be initiated at any time by anyone. My mom just calledGame Onwith that comment. The point is for us to keep a straight face, no matter what. First one to laugh loses. My mom’s weapon is—even though she’s the coolest mom in the world—she does everything in the dorkiest way possible. But her weapon is also her weakness because sometimesshecan’t even resist laughing at her own corny jokes.

“Shaking hands with the sheriff?” I ask, clearly showing how unimpressed I am that she would stoop to that level. “What? Are we in the fifties? Or the wild west? No one says that anymore.”

“Would you prefer the term masturwait?”

My dad’s face scrunches with confusion. “Masturwait?”

She nods. “Yes. Sometimes he has to stop midway because his Pornhub feed is still buffering.”

That one was gold, and I cover my mouth with my hand to stop a laugh.

My dad pulls his lips in and takes a second to steel his expression. “Interesting. Where did you learn that, Lorraine?”

“Well, you were telling me the other day that I should get with the times, so I went into the cyberspace and started studying the urban dictionary.”

“I see.” His voice is tight because he’s about to crack. He drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose until he feels ready to look at her again. “What else...” He clears his throat and the way he’s forcing himself not to laugh is pushing me closer to breaking point. “What else did you do while you were...in the cyberspace?”

“Just some shopping. I found this fantastic site calledWish...list...Yeah,Wishlistor something like that.”

“Be strong, Dad,” I whisper. “She’s not holding back today.”

“What did you order?”

She’s taking strain now too because my dad is twitching and looking a little constipated. “I was searching for a new husband...and they were having a special, so I clicked on Shaquille O’ Neil because you know I like my menbigand burly.”

“I know.” He nods. “And what, uh, what did you end up getting?”

“Not exactly what I ordered, but that may be my fault because I clicked on reduced shipping costs. Anyway, Kevin Hart is sitting up in our bedroom if you want to meet him.”

My dad cracks up, laughing so hard he almost falls over. I’m killing it too when she walks over to give me a high-five.

“You’re weak!” I yell at him. “My money was on you, and you let me down!”

During moments like these, the absence of my sister is very noticeable, but we don’t bring her up. The state of equilibrium is important to us, and we don’t even mention her because that will tip the scales. The next emotional hangover week will come around again soon enough, so for now, we just enjoy the laughter.

“Looks like you got an all-day free pass to Loserville!” She lightly kicks him until he drops back flat on his ass.

He yanks her wrist and pulls her onto his lap, circling his arms around her. “Don’t rub it in. It’s the first time you’ve won in months.Andyou cheated. We watched that interview with both of them the other day, so you knew I already had the visual.” He kisses her on the cheek. “Now, are you going to help us with this or not?”

“I suppose I have to.”

“Let’s see what we can do with this wrench, otherwise we’ll have to go to the store and get a bigger one.”

My parents continue talking as we hammer and drill. They try to pull me into the conversation a few times, but my mind is off somewhere else. Just the thought of going to the store gets my adrenalin pumping and my anxiety levels soar through the roof. One memory and I’m on edge, almost in a state of panic. I just can’t focus. I try to push it aside, trudge my way out of the past and into the present, but my mind is stuck there, only making occasional trips back to the here and now when my parents speak to me directly. We try our best to work without an eighteen-millimeter wrench, using other tools to tighten the bolts, but they’re not as effective. We set up the bottom set of shelves before my dad calls it quits.

“This is flimsy.” With a frustrated groan, he checks his phone. “It’s half-past four. Do you think the hardware store is still open?”

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