“Car’s looking like it could use a wash there, isn’t it?”
Scanning the car I see a few dirty patches and one spot on the corner of my windshield where a bird used my glass as an outhouse. Could it use a wash? Sure. Is it worth pointing out? Only to Dad.
“Maybe,” I say, closing the car door. “Who was that you were on the phone with?”
Dad cracks his neck to the right before answering. “A guy who is interested in buying the Maverick.” By his tone, you would think thatthe Maverickis the name of his first-born daughter rather than a car he intentionally listed for sale.
“Low dowry?”
“What?” he asks, confused.
“Never mind.” I link my arm through his and direct us toward the door. “So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know, Claire. He’s not from around here so most of the conversation and negotiation has been through calls or emails. It feels a little…” he searches for the word. “Disconnected. And I’m not sure I’m quite comfortable with that. I told him I’d look over his offer and get back to him.”
I stop on the front steps knowing he won’t speak freely if he thinks what he is about to say will worry Mom.
“Dad, do you think maybe you’re having a hard time finding someone you’re okay with buying the car because it’s your final tie to Grandpa?”
He considers this, chewing on his bottom lip. “You know, Claire, maybe you’re right. Good or bad, your grandpa was my father and despite sometimes feeling less than, I loved him dearly. As a parent, I understand now that you don’t get everything right. Maybe part of me wants to hold onto what’s left of him, even if it’s something he got wrong.”
I nod understanding that my own parents aren’t perfect, but knowing I’ll miss even their flaws and imperfections when they’re gone.
“You know,” Dad unhooks his arm from mine and puts it around my shoulder. Giving it a slight squeeze he continues, “You’re wise beyond your years, Claire Bear.”
“Oh, I know,” I say, giving him a teasing smile, then reaching for the door.
He whispers as he pushes past me, going in first. “Must have gottenthatfrom your dad.”
“Oh, Claire, I saw Margie at Bag Bingo on Tuesday!” Just the name Margie makes me flinch. Mom doesn’t notice as she sips her sweet tea. “She said she saw you at Whisk!” A slow whirlpool of nerves begins forming in my stomach.
“Who were the blondies for, honey?” She looks at me with a closed-mouth smile, blinking slowly.
“Oh, just a friend.” I look at my plate to avoid drawing attention to my lying eyes.
“Hmm…” I can tell she’s contemplating whether or not she should push the issue and the whirlpool current quickens. Thankfully, she pivots. “She also told me that your picture is no longer on the Jefferson website. You should really contact HR about that.”
Damn you, Margie. I should have known all of this would get back to Mom. If you thought gossip was bad in high school, you should meet the women of my mother’s church. Honestly, I can’t believe it took a full twenty-four hours for her to spill the tea. I play with the potatoes on my plate, buying time to think of what excuse I should use now.
I know at twenty-four I shouldn’t be this worried about telling my parents that I lost my job. I just know how they’re going to react. Dad is going to get all factual — “What about bills?” “Have you found a new job?” “You know you can’t just let your degree go to waste.” And Mom is going to get emotional and cliché — “Oh the poor kids!” “What will they do without you?” “When one door closes, another one opens.” “Just pray about it, Claire.”
I’m just not ready for the hysteria. And I’m especially not ready to tell them that I’m not really all that upset about it anyway.
I decide it’s now or never. The anxiety of telling them is bigger than the anxiety about the actual situation, and I just want it out in the open.
“I don’t think contacting HR is really going to change much,” I say, hoping they take the hint.
“Well now, Claire, that’s their job, honey. Clearly, someone’s made a mistake.”
“There was no mistake, Mom.”
Now Dad chimes in. “Well if they took you off the faculty page, honey, there clearly was.”
I’m really going to have to spell it out for them. Time to just spit it out.
“I’m not going back to Jefferson next year.”
Mom looks at Dad curiously. “I don’t understand.”
