“It’s not hydrangeas, and you know it. I just finished trimming a six-foot topiary dick and put it directly in front of that awful dogwood tree he insisted on planting in his backyard. Honestly, my backyard will be nothing but genitalia by the time I’m done with him. Next, I think I’m....”
“Mom,” I said, interrupting what would have been a ten-minute conversation about if a middle finger was better than an ass for her next topiary design.
“Oh, right. What’s up?” Mom said with a laugh.
She knew I was straight to the point, just like my dad. I could imagine her in the kitchen, having a second cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin while glancing out the window above her sink to check her zucchini plants and obscene topiary creations.
“Two things, mom. First, do you remember the last time the house was inspected for termites?”
“Oh, I can’t say for sure. The last time I remember was when you boys were in High School. Why?”
“High School?” I said, louder than I should have. I ran my hands through my hair and paced, wearing down the grass. I could feel my blood pressure rising as Bill walked around the corner with a sour look on his face. I took off in the other direction, putting space between the man that was going to ruin my day.
Freaking bad luck.
I put my hand in my pocket and rubbed my rabbit’s foot, hoping to salvage some part of the morning.
“Yes. Those things are good for like twenty years, aren’t they?”
“No, mom. Definitely not twenty years.”
“Is there an issue with the house?” Her voice was getting high with worry.
“Nothing I can’t handle, mom. The termite guy is here, and it looks like the house might have a little damage.”
“Damage? What kind of damage, Marcus?”
Oops, backtrack.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem serious—don’t worry. But I need your help with something else. Are you free tomorrow?”
“You aren’t changing the subject without a promise to let me know what the verdict is, young man.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good—now, what’s happening tomorrow. My rage-knitting class was rescheduled, so I’m free.”
“I have to work and was hoping you could come over and house-sit for me.”
“House-sit? What for?”
“I, um—got a pet.”
“What? A pet? You? House-sit for a pet?”
Great, me getting a pet was so far out there. She was repeating everything I said.
“Yeah. I got a kitten, and I don’t want to leave her alone all day.”
“Oh, wonderful, honey. I’m so glad you adopted. Of course, I thought you’d eventually get a Mastiff or German Shepard, but I’ve always had a soft spot for kittens. I’ll be glad to cat-sit for my little grand kitten. You are my favorite, after all. I’ll see you in the morning, and I’ll bring breakfast.”
I almost reminded her I was close to thirty and perfectly capable of cooking my own breakfast, but I’d be an idiot to turn down her cooking.
“Sounds good. Thank you, Mom. See you in the morning.”
“Anytime. Bye, Marcus.”
I hung up and looked around. Bill must have moved inside, so I stomped back up the porch and through the front door. The kitten was lying in the cat bed but hopped out as I got closer.
