Chapter 8 - The Cost of a Refrigerator
Mom told the extended family I'd turned my back on everyone for a fancy college.
By Wednesday, three cousins had messaged me about being selfish.
One wrote, Family comes before opportunities.
I wanted to ask why that rule had never seemed to apply to my opportunities.
Instead, I went with Renee to Good Table Catering to collect my work shoes and a box of school books.
The building smelled of garlic, bleach, and the onions I used to chop until my eyes burned.
A cook named Mr. Flores came out of the walk-in cooler.
"Heard you're going away," he said.
"I'm trying."
"Good."
He looked embarrassed by his own answer.
"You're eighteen. You've already done enough shifts."
Mom emerged from her office carrying an order sheet.
"You don't get to walk into my business and make people feel sorry for you."
"I'm here for my things."
"We have two weddings Saturday."
"Then hire another worker."
"With what money?"
She pointed at the new refrigerator.
"That machine keeps the whole place open."
"The one you put my name on?"
Mr. Flores stopped wiping the counter.
Mom's face hardened.
"We aren't doing this here."
"Where would you prefer? The bank? The university?"
Renee touched my elbow.
"Get the books," she said.
"Let the investigators handle the rest."
In the office, my old tablet sat beside a stack of printed menus.
I didn't touch it.
Its charging light was green.
I took a photograph of the room from the doorway and left.
Mom followed us into the parking lot.
"Your father would be ashamed of what you've become," she said.
I turned around.
"Dad was the one who taught me to build something better."
For a moment, the anger left her face.
Then my phone buzzed.
May you like
If you keep pushing this, the girls will know who to blame when we lose our home.
She'd sent it while standing ten feet away from me.
