“Maybe it’s time to hire more temps,” I groaned to myself before leaving my office.
Dexter
I jabbedat the plate of eggs and bacon that had been placed before me. Any other time, I’d be on my second helping of food that my parents' cook prepared. There was nothing like getting a homemade meal from Ms. Marla, but today I didn’t have an appetite. My parents wanted to have a nice breakfast with me to celebrate my upcoming graduation in a few days, so I drove back to my childhood home this morning. Here, a big, delicious meal sat before me, and I didn’t want any of it. Between still being pissed about the bullshit that George pulled the other night and the fact that I still haven’t told my parents the truth, I wasn’tabout to eat anytime soon. I flared my nostrils as frustration swam through me.
“Dexter, son, are you not hungry?” my mother asked, looking up from her tablet.
My mother, Lydia, was in her late fifties, but you wouldn’t be able to tell if you saw her. She had deep sienna skin that she kept moisturized and tight because of her Botox. Her freshly dyed jet-black hair was pulled back into a low bun. She was petite, standing at 5ft and no bigger than 125 pounds, thanks to her ritual of CoolSculpting. My mother was beautiful, but I wished she embraced her natural beauty. She didn’t need to spend thousands to look fake.
I sat up in my chair and shook my head. “No, ma’am, not really.”
“Marla, fix the boy a Bloody Mary,” my dad, Adam, called. “He obviously still has a hangover from being out all night.”
I frantically looked over at Marla and shook my head. She covered her mouth with a giggle and dipped her chin. She knew how much I hated the drink. I don’t care how much it helped with hangovers; I wasn’t about to drink spiked tomato juice.
“Dad, I’m not hungover.” I chuckled with a shake of my head. “I’m not hungry.”
My dad raised a thick eyebrow before taking a sip of his coffee. I stared back at him, and it was like looking into a mirror that showed what I’d look like in thirty years. I was the spitting image of him, with the same mocha skin and brown eyes. While my dad wore a full salt and pepper beard and bald head, I had my shoulder-length dreadlocks loose and my black royal beard trimmed.
“Alright,” he said, setting down his coffee. “So, what are your plans?”
I sat back in my chair. “Uh, well, I graduate in a few–”
“What your father meant to ask,” my mom interjected. “What are your plans after graduation? You know we have an entry-level position at Green Tech that opens up at the beginning of next year.”
I looked down at my plate and shifted in my seat. A small hand gently touched the top of my shoulder, causing me to look up. Marla set a glass in front of me before she gave me a quick wink. I glanced at the drink and smirked. While the beverage before me looked like a Bloody Mary, it was basically fruit punch with a celery stalk inside. Marla gave me a warm smile before she headed back into the kitchen.
Marla had been my parents' cook for as long as I could remember. She was in her late seventies but didn’t look a day over fifty. Her shortbread colored skin still glowed with youth, even though she had visible aging lines on her face. She wore her short, sandy brown hair in a high bun, which revealed the necklace my mother bought her years ago. It didn’t matter that my parents employed her, because they still considered her family. Marla only had one daughter left in her own family, but their relationship was strained. Over the years, my mother and Marla became the best of friends, which helped ease Marla’s hurt with her daughter.
Taking a sip of my drink, I cleared my throat and returned my attention to my mom. “Yes, ma’am, I remember you telling me about that job.”
“Well?” my dad asked, eating a spoonful of oatmeal.
Well? How do I tell the two people who put me through private school and college that I didn’t want to follow in their footsteps and work in IT? How do I tell them I lied and got my degree to become a software engineer?
My parents met in college, and both got their bachelor’s degrees in information technology. From there, they started Green Tech and have been successful for over thirty years. Ofcourse, they wanted their only son to follow in their footsteps and take over when they retired. But that wasn’t my dream.
I drummed my fingers against my glass and took a breath. Now was the time to come clean. I mean, in a few days, I’ll graduate from school and won’t have to rely on my parents anymore. Granted, I never wanted to depend on their money, but they were persistent in taking on my education financially so that I wasn’t drowning in debt. I would forever be grateful and planned on repaying them. However, I couldn’t let that guilt continue to eat at me.
“Mom. Dad.” I began looking up into their eyes. As soon as I did, I noticed the proud look they had on their faces. My mouth suddenly became dry, and my tongue felt heavy. The words that held the truth and would lift the burden I had been holding on to for years got stuck in my throat. Why couldn’t I speak? How was it possible for my anxiety to glue my mouth shut? They were my parents, and parents wanted their children to be happy. They’d understand. Right?
“Dexter?” my mom called after me.
Warm smiles appeared on both their faces, causing me to exhale. I couldn’t do it. How could I? These two have spent thousands to ensure I received the education I deserved. Not to mention all the sacrifices they made for me as I grew up. I was being selfish. I could admit that. Yes, my parents deserve to know the truth about what degree I received from their hard-earned money, but not today. Looking at their smiles and how pleased they were was enough for me to keep my mouth shut a little longer.
Plastering a grin on my face, I picked up my drink. “I’ll work on my resume.”
My dad clapped his hands together with excitement. “Excellent!”
“That’s my boy.” My mom winked before getting back on her tablet.
I excused myself from the table before heading down the hall to my old bedroom. Grabbing my phone off my desk, I scrolled until I found George’s number. I haven’t spoken to him since the fiasco at the restaurant. Hell, I meant to block his ass, but it slipped my mind. Thankfully, it did because unfortunately I needed his help. After I cursed under my breath, I finally pushed myself to send him the text.
Me:
I need a favor.
George:
