My phone beeps with a text.
Kelsey: Shouldn’t you be at work tomorrow?
I stand from my spot on the floor and untuck my shirt before texting her back.
Lottie: I should . . .
I set my phone down and undress, tossing my clothes in my hamper, not even bothering with the stain. The damage has been done. I put on a pair of shorts and a tank top and tie my long brown hair up in a knot.
Kelsey: Don’t tell me that ho fired you.
Lottie: Consider me unemployed.
Kelsey: I FREAKING told you this was going to happen. She’s such a . . . God, Lottie, if you ever talk to her again, I’m going to disown you. Do you hear me?
Lottie: Trust me, Angela is dead to me now, despite what SHE might think.
Kelsey: Let me guess, the narcissist still thinks you’re going to be friends.
Lottie: Yup. Anyway, I’m not telling Mom and Jeff, not until I can figure something out. They still think I’m moving out next week when I get my “promotion”—aka, downgraded to unemployed.
Kelsey: Your secret is safe with me. I’ll be over around nine with tequila and margarita fixings.
Lottie: Can you come with the idea notebook?
Kelsey: Already packing it. I got you, sis.
Lottie: I love you.
Kelsey: Love you. And don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.
Feeling relieved, I set my phone down on the dresser, because if Mom sees a phone anywhere near the dinner table, she snatches it away and tosses it in the toilet. I’ve fallen victim to such thievery once and only once. After drying your toilet-water phone in rice overnight, you quickly learn to never do that again.
I head down the hallway and to the dining room, where I catch Jeff press a chaste kiss to my mom’s cheek. He whispers “thank you” to her before taking a seat. He’s changed his clothes as well, hands free from any landscaping dirt. I know he’ll be right back outside after this, but I appreciate his understanding for my mom’s rules at the table.
“Smells good, Mom,” I lie as I take a seat. Jeff loves her homemade fish sticks. I loathe them. But I eat them because I was taught at a very early age, you eat what’s on your plate and you don’t complain about it. Be happy you have food at all.
“Thank you. I made some of your favorite cobbler for dessert.”
Now that’s something I can choke down fish sticks for.
“You’re amazing. Thank you.”
Mom takes a seat, and then as a cute family of three, we link hands, Mom leads us in a prayer, and then we dig in. Thankfully, Mom gave me smaller portions. I can easily take this down for the promise of some fresh cobbler.
“How was work, sweetie?” Mom asks while putting a dollop of tartar sauce on her plate. She passes the sauce to Jeff, who takes a scoop as well, and then to me. I load up my plate with the pickle-ridden dipping sauce because it’s the only way I can chew through the sticks of fish.
“It was great,” I answer, the lie feeling raw on my tongue.
Three things I learned while growing up with a strong, independent woman—you don’t lie, you don’t cheat, and you always work for what you want. Well, I just lied, but I can’t possibly stomach telling the truth. Not when Mom and Jeff told me—just like Kelsey—what a bad idea it was to take a job from Angela. Hot and cold Angela. Narcissistic and erratic Angela. They told me to wait out the job market, that something would come along for a graduate from UC Irvine with a master’s in business.
Something would come.
Anything would come.
Nothing came.
Absolutely zero opportunities.
I became desperate.
Student loans were knocking at my door, responsibility was flooding around my feet.
I needed a job.
Angela was my only option. She offered me temporary placement within the company, a low-ball salary that forced me to live with my mom so I could maintain living in Southern California, and a promise that if I performed my job well, that after a year, my salary would triple—yes, triple, that’s how much of a pay cut I took—and she’d give me a permanent position. Mom and Jeff said I’d be a fool to take it. That she’d screw me over somehow.
But I had no other options. Absolutely none. So, I had no choice, in my mind. I took it.
And I slayed.
Over the next few months, I saw extreme growth of the lifestyle blog. Celebrities started backing it, and before I knew it, Angeloop had become a household name. I was a part of that. I threw a “told you so” right at Mom and Jeff after our first featured spot on the Today Show. I said I had to put the time in, and good things would happen.
Can you hear the sarcastic laughter now?
Not only do I have no money, but now I have no job, and in a week—unless I want to tell Mom and Jeff the truth—nowhere to live.
As Rachel Green would say, isn’t that just kick-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck fantastic?
“Did you sign a lease yet? I know you found a place over in West Hollywood near your sister you liked.”
That I did, but thank God for my fear of commitment, because I didn’t sign the lease. That would’ve just added to this nightmare.
“I didn’t quite like that place; the vibe wasn’t there.”
Jeff laughs. “Maura, do you remember being twenty-five, searching for a place to live based off a vibe?” He playfully clutches his chest. “The memories.”
My mom chuckles and smooths her hand over his back. “I remember I found a one-room square over in Koreatown where the toilet was next to my bed and I’d use it as a nightstand. It was in those nightstand-toilet-seat moments that I thought, wow, the vibe here is real . . .” Mom looks at me. “Real poor, that is.”
Chuckling, Jeff nods. “Toilet nightstand, got me beat there. I just had a neighbor with a broom that wrecked my vibe all the time.”
I look between the two of them. “You know I’m borderline a Gen Z’er; the sarcasm can cut deep at times.”
They both laugh and then Mom says, “You’re a soft millennial. That’s okay, honey. You can stay with Mommy and Stepdaddy for as long as you want. We love having no privacy.” She smirks and I know she’s teasing. She’d never kick me out of the house, but I also know they’ve been looking forward to my departure for a while.
“If you like having no privacy, then we might as well have a slumber party tonight. We can all cuddle up in your queen-size bed.”
Jeff holds up his hand. “Please, spare me.”
Poor Jeff, such a good guy, and I can see that he does want to have some privacy with my mom. He’s been with us since I was fifteen. I think he’s ready to have some serious alone time with my mom. And just like that, the guilt builds. Does it suck that Angela fucked me over? Of course, but what sucks even more is if I don’t figure this out, I’m going to be fucking Jeff and my mom out of the freedom they’ve been looking forward to.
“We really want to walk around naked,” Mom says out of the blue. When I give her a horrified look, she says, “Whenever you’re hanging out with your sister, that’s what we do. We turn on some Harry Connick Jr., strip down, and then dance naked in the living room.”
“Oh my God, why are you telling me this?” I set my fork down, the possibility of eating dwindling. Yes, Jeff and my mom are attractive people; Jeff lifts weights in the garage and Mom keeps up with her physique, but good Christ! Not something you want to envision.