“No,” I lied.
“Well, I just don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to worry,” I said again.
“All right.” She lifted the pan out of the sink and put it on the stove. The power of the moment started to hit me. It was so normal. My mom and I were in the kitchen while my father watched TV. But to us, it wasn’t normal. Usually, we were all in our separate rooms, staring at separate screens. We had this moment together, and many more to come, because we didn’t have to worry any longer.
Jake had given this to us. My mother wouldn’t have to work three jobs. If she wanted, she could stay at home all day, and my father would have the care that he needed to make sure that he survived. He was going to live.
The doorbell rang.
“That’s probably Loren,” my mom said from the stove.
“I’ll get it.” I stood up to answer the door. The second it opened, Loren grabbed me by the collar and pulled me outside.
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed.
I pulled myself away and straightened my shirt. “What?”
“You’re dating one of your clients, you fucking idiot. I thought you knew better than that.”
“You know what, Loren? I only screwed one guy. I only delivered packages to one guy. He wasn’t my client, and I like him, for fuck’s sake. I mean, who are you to judge me?”
“I’m worried about you. What are you thinking? Do you really want to be with a man that picks up hookers?”
I sighed. “I’ve been through this over and over in my head, and every single worry I’ve had has been dashed away. Now, there’s no denying that this is the right thing to do.”
Loren looked me up, then down. “You’re one crazy bitch, but I hope, for your sake, that you’re right.”
“I am, and you know me, Loren. If it was like that, I never would’ve gotten into this.”
“You’re right.”
We walked inside and sat down at the table. My mother asked Loren how things had been. Once she was satisfied that Loren had told her everything, she started dancing around the subject of Jake. Loren redirected her back to the stove by standing up to pull the lid off the pan before it was ready. My mom reacted instantly.
“Hey.” She shot up out of her chair.
“I’m sorry,” Loren said. “I just wanted to check.”
&nbs
p; “You have to be careful. The lid has to stay on the pot. You know that. It’s not good otherwise.”
Loren flashed me a grin and sat down while my mother worked on the sauce, adding Italian seasoning, salt, and a splash of red wine. The smell of roasted tomatoes and herbs flowed through the kitchen, spreading throughout the house.
My father walked up behind my mother, who was hunched over the stove. His hand darted out around her back, and he stuck a finger in the sauce. Then he licked it off his finger.
My mother whipped around and seemed to grow 10 feet. “You get back.” She stepped forward, but he held his ground. “Go.” She pointed at the TV.
He gave her a defiant glare and took a seat at her spot at the table. “I’m fine right where I am.”
“Is that garlic bread I smell?” Loren asked.
“Shoot.” My mother dipped down to open the stove and check the bread.
The wine bottle sat on the counter next to her. Had she not bent down to check the bread, she would’ve seen when my father snatched it up off the counter. He took a good, long swig while Loren and I both watched, trying to hold our breath just to keep from laughing.
Finally, he drained the whole thing and set it down on the table next to me.