I wanted to thank him for standing up to his father’s bribery, but I couldn’t find the words. Thanking him would mean admitting that I hadn’t done so well myself in that area.
He paused in the foyer. “Oh, hey. I took a look at your YouTube numbers. They look pretty good, but you need to keep making content.”
I gave a mock salute. “Yes, sir!”
Once he’d left I wandered into the kitchen, where my mother had taken over. It was still odd to see her in the kitchen, my former domain. I searched myself for an urge to bake; the urge did not come—yet another thing Mitch had seemingly taken from me. Weird. Logically, I knew my mother could cook, but she’d spent so much of my childhood not cooking.
Yes, because she was working hard to provide food for the table.
“Thanks for cooking supper, Mom.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” she said without turning around from where she had sauerkraut and wieners going. “Mitch just better get back soon, because I would hate to eat this for no reason.”
“I thought you liked this meal.”
“Ha! I inherited the recipe from my mother, who made this when she could afford little else. It’s also quick, so that helps.”
The garage door rose, and I grinned at Mom. Sure enough, six seconds later, Mitch bellowed, “Vivian, what the hell?”
“Good evening to you, too, Mitch. We’re just fixing supper.”
“And watchingJeopardy,” Mom said before turning to me with a plate.
“It’s Saturday. There’s noJeopardy,” Mitch said, his nose wrinkled in disgust.
To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t looking forward to this meal, but I’d eat it with a smile on my face if it made him uncomfortable. As for our television options? “Oh, it’s streaming now. We can watch it anytime we want.”
“I’m going tomyroom,” he said, the emphasis meant to make me feel guilty for unceremoniously kicking him out of our bedroom.
It should be noted that I didn’t feel the least bit bad.
We sat down on the couch and placed our plates on the coffee table. I picked up the remote, but I could hear Mitch talking on the phone, making cooing sounds to his new girlfriend.
Mom put a gentle hand on my arm. “Don’t. Just turn on the television loud enough that you can’t hear him.”
We spent the next twenty-some-odd minutes asking questions with our mouths full.
Finally, as we sat back and waited for the three contestants to figure out the Final Jeopardy answer—Who is Ellis Marsalis Jr.?—Mitch entered the living room.
“Vivian, have you done something to my bedroom or does it smell because of that cabbage crap you’re eating?”
“I haven’t done anything to the bedroom, Mitch,” I said carefully. In fact, I hadn’t done anything to thebedroom; I may or may not have placed something in the bedroom closet. “Why would I?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Because you want me to leave.”
“Sure, but I also want to keep the house. Why would I do something to hurt it?”
He couldn’t argue with that logic. He paused on his way back to his room and turned around. “I guess I never thought you’d be so petty. You’ve really surprised me, Vivian.”
“Petty” wasn’t a word I liked coming from him. It hurt, but I kept my smile right where it had been. “No, Mitchell, you thought I would go along with whatever you wanted, just the way I always have. I’m simply not the doormat you thought I was.”
He scowled at that but left us in peace.
Mom and I stared ahead for a few minutes.
“You gonna start another episode?” she asked.
“Before I do, there’s something I want to say.”
