It only takes me a few minutes to pull clothes out of my closet. I moved all of my nice garments to the front a couple of weeks ago in case I had an interview. Also, I think I need new clothes. Most of them are from college and I didn’t exactly dress to impress during the lectures. Most of the time it was whatever I rolled out of bed in. I guess I know what I will be doing with my first check after I see what they want me to wear.
Shockingly my mom is awake when I head downstairs. Eggs are scrambling in a skillet while she adds bacon to a frying pan. “What’s the occasion?”
She only cooks breakfast for dinner, or on the weekends and when we have family in town. “I wanted to make sure you had a decent meal before you left for work.”
That’s actually pretty sweet of her. Not that she’s a horrible mom or anything. My biggest issue with living at home is her tendency to be overbearing. She has to butt into my life whenever she thinks it’s necessary, which is all the time.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s fine, Xan, I want to,” she flips a piece of bacon, “I know you won’t always be living here, and I want to soak in these moments.”
The sadness over my moving out stabs me in the gut. I should probably cut her some slack. I know it can’t be easy. She’s provided for me all these years, aside from when I was away at college, and it has to be weird knowing her only child doesn’t really need her the way I used to.
I give her a quick hug because I don’t want to be popped with bacon grease, and soft peck on top of her head. “Thanks, Mom.”
It kind of ruins the appetite for donuts, but it’s fine. This makes Mom happy, and I don’t want to pull away from that. I pull out the plates from the cabinet and set them on the table. Footsteps thumb on the stairs and I pull out another plate.
“It smells delicious in here.” Dad walks into the kitchen and straight toward Mom. He pulls her to him and kisses her like they are still in the newlywed stage instead of being married for thirty years. It’s sweet and horrifying at the same time.
“Ugh, gross,” I cover my face with my hands, “can y’all not do that in front of me?”
“Not going to happen,” Dad grins as he pulls away from her. “You act like we haven’t done this every day for your entire life.”
“Yeah, but not first thing in the morning.”
Mom turns off the burners on the stove and moves the pans to the back. “Xander, I hope you find someone that makes you want to make out with them every day for the rest of your lives.”
“Please make it stop.”
Dad’s laugh echoes around the room. I’m almost certain they do this just get a rise out of me. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with a little PDA, but that doesn’t mean I want to see it.
“So, today’s your first day at the new job?” Dad takes a plate and loads it up with food.
“Yep,” I follow after him, “it’s pretty much the same thing I was doing delivering pizzas, only this time it’s flowers.”
“As long as you’re happy doing it, I don’t care what you do.” Dad claps a hand on my shoulder before taking a seat at the table.
“We’ll see. I mean how hard can it be?” I sit down and take a bite of food. “I know they said there will also be weekends when I work because they do the flowers for a lot of weddings. But the pay is better so I’m not complaining. And I think Kate and her friends will be easy to work with. They take a lot of pride in their business.”
“Wait,” Mom says as she sits, “isn’t Kate the name of that girl you were with the other night?”
Ugh, I knew it was a mistake when I mentioned her name. “Yes,” I draw out.
Dad sets his fork down and studies me. “I won’t tell you what to do, but be careful when mixing business with personal relationships. It can go downhill pretty quickly.”
“I, uh, don’t think that will be a problem. She made it pretty clear we won’t be seeing each other.” Another bite to buy myself some time, “as much as I wish it were otherwise, I want this job. And I didn’t know she owned the shop until after I signed the employee paperwork.”
“Well,” Mom breathes a sigh of relief, “that makes me feel better.”
I finish off my food and scoot my chair back. “I need to finish getting ready. Leave the dishes, I’ll get them done before I head out.”
I don’t give either of them a chance to respond before I hurry back up the stairs. As much as I appreciate their words, I don’t really need them freaking me out more than I already am. Overthinking has become my super power.
There’s a line of people behind me at the donut shop. The lady at the front counter is patient, and that’s more than I can say about those behind me. Most of them look like teens trying to get their breakfast on the way to school, and I feel bad for holding them up.
But I have no clue what everyone likes, or if they have any food allergies. The last thing I want to do is make someone go to the emergency room because they ate something I brought. I guess it’s best to keep it simple.
“Can I get a dozen donuts, half glazed and half chocolate. A dozen pigs, and six bottles of orange juice?”
