Page 14 of Broken Omega

“I don’t know about your father, but I’m famished,” she tells me as she picks up a chip and pops it into her mouth.

I’m not surprised she’s starving. She’s probably been running around in those heels all morning, doing all kinds of housework while my father pottered around in the garden, chatting to the elderly neighbor over the fence.

“Well, you’d better get started before Dad joins us,” I warn her, the same way she warned me.

She picks up a sandwich and puts it on her plate. Pours herself a lemonade and manages to leave a little puddle at the side of her glass without even noticing. She offers to pour mine, and I take the pitcher out of her hands.

“Thanks, Mom,” I tell her.

“So, what’s new?” she asks, as she picks up another chip.

“Nothing, really,” I admit, though that’s not exactly true.

I know what she wants to ask about. It’s probably futile, but I’m hoping she doesn’t.

She takes a bite of her sandwich, and I can hear the back door creaking open in the kitchen.

Dad stomps his feet on the mat, then the tap starts to run at the sink.

Mom looks back, and calls out, “Take those horrible crocodile feet off before you come through here.”

“I was taking them off,” he calls back, with the offense-taken tone of a surly child.

He wasn’t taking his gardening Crocs off. He only bothers to do that when Mom reminds him.

Some things never change. It’s oddly reassuring.

I pick up a second sandwich, deciding if I’m having cake afterward, I might as well eat my fill like my mom requested. She gives me a bright smile as I start eating it.

Dad walks into the room a minute later, wearing old clothes and a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, Old Jack wouldn’t shut up about this new fertilizer he thinks everyone should be using.”

Mom screws up her nose. “Don’t talk about gardening stuff at the dinner table, dear.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he says, holding up his hands.

She inspects them and nods, letting out a breath. “Well at least you’ve cleaned your hands properly.”

“I used the nailbrush like you told me. I’m not completely useless, love.” He leans in and kisses mom’s cheek, making her blush and giggle like a teenager.

My parents may argue all the time, but they’re still in love. I used to think their behavior was utterly revolting. This would have been one of those moments where I’d go hide in my room to finish my lunch without having to see them fawn over each other. Eventually, I realized it was a good thing, even if I’d rather not witness it.

Dad picks up a sandwich. “Oh good, there’s still some left.”

As if between us Mom and I might have polished off the insane buffet she laid out.

“I was just asking Kellan if anything was new with him,” she fills him in.

My dad makes a grunting noise since his mouth is full of food.

“Don’t try to talk with your mouth full, dear.”

“Nothing’s really happening,” I add, covering up the fact that I hit my financial goal.

I’ve spent years working toward it, and they both know it was likely to happen this year, but they have no idea when, and I’d rather not talk about my application to the academy until I’ve already submitted it. Which will be after a pep-talk from my new friend and mentor, Lana, the main full-time receptionist at Goldcrest.

“Nothing at all?” Mom asks. “No big, fancy, new clients or anything?”

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