Page 11 of House of Deceit

“No, I was nearby, so I thought I’d stop in. What smells so good?”

“I’m making roasted veggies and mashed potatoes while your dad cooks some steaks on the grill. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“That’d be nice, thanks.” I move into the kitchen and sit at the circular dining table off to the side. “I had an interview today.”

“Oh? And?”

“They at least waited until I was in my car to call and reject me. It was for Pop ‘n Shop. Just to get some money coming in. But even they don’t want me. I might be the biggest loser on the face of the planet.” I pick at a piece of skin next to my thumbnail absentmindedly.

Mom leaves the potato masher in the pot as she moves toward me, wiping her hands on the towel over her shoulder. She pulls the chair out next to me, grabbing my hands in hers.

“I know you feel that way right now because you’ve taken a few good lumps, but that’s not the case. You’ll find something, and it’ll be exactly what you need in life. I just know it.”

The stress I’ve been feeling weighs on my shoulders, bowing them in. My throat tightens with tears, forcing me to swallow past the lump.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Your dad and I love you. I’m sure it’s not what you want to hear, but you always have a place here.” I immediately try to pull back, but her grip is like iron.

“I understand that no one wants to move back in with their parents after so long on their own,” she continues, “but sometimes, you need to make those hard decisions to get to something better. Just think about it, okay?”

I nod. “Okay.” I wipe the single tear making its way down my cheek, pushing my emotions down once more. “Do you need any help?”

“Can you get the drinks together? Water for me and sweet tea for your dad.” She stands and makes her way back to the oven, picking up the masher once more.

I push up from the table and grab three glasses from the cupboard beside the sink. The ice cubes clink into the glasses from the refrigerator door. Setting them all on the counter, I open the door and grab a Coke for me and the pitcher of sweet tea for my dad.

My dad walks through the back door, clicking the tongs absentmindedly in his hands.

“Pops. Mom said only ten more minutes on the sides,” I say, grabbing up the glasses to take them to the table. He looks at me in happy surprise while blinding me with his headlamp. Without a free hand to block the light, my retinas burn.

“Lottie Lou! There’s about half that on these steaks, but they’ll need to rest.”

“Can you turn your head or something? You’re blinding me with the sun strapped to your face.”

“Ope, sorry about that.” He turns the light off as black spots dance in my vision.

“You look nice, Lottie Lou. What were you up to?”

“I had a job interview at Pop ‘n Shop.”

“Take mace if you get that job. Those shoppers can be vicious over a sale.”

“Don’t I know it, but they didn’t hire me. I don’t live for retail like they wanted.”

“Their loss.”

“Thanks.” I sit in my chair and watch my parents dance around the kitchen as they finish cooking our meal.

My arms are overflowing with leftovers as I leave my parents’ house. I dump the various containers in my front seat, thankful I won’t have to resort to what would probably be my hundredth meal of canned chicken noodle soup to take the edge off my hunger. As I pull into the parking lot of my apartment, my gas light turns on. I stare at the mocking light for what feels like an eternity before I snap.

With my hands on the wheel in a death grip, I scream. I fling myself around like an angry octopus, unable to control my anxiety and stress for another moment. My emotions have been bottled up for the last few months while I’ve been limping along, trying to stay positive, and I just can’t any longer. I pull my cell phone out of the cup holder, video call the only number I can, and rest my forehead on the wheel.

“So, how do I go about selling my used underwear?” I ask Courtney without preamble when she answers, raising my head to look at her.

“Ha! All right, attagirl. There are all sorts of websites. Maybe you should do both the underwear and feet. That way, if one is slow to get going, hopefully, the other will take off quicker.” I watch her son run, squealing to the high heavens, as J.D. chases him around with a box on his head.

“What is J.D. wearing?”

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