He’s silent for several long moments before speaking. “And you’re here for your parents’ assistance with this financial issue?”
I nod slowly. “I’m not expecting a great outcome, but it’s either this or a cardboard box down on Skid Row somewhere, and I’m not asking my friends for help.”
Albright reaches for my empty glass. “I’ll get you another.” He doesn’t have to say anything else. It’s clear that he knows my parents will say no.
So, why am I even bothering with what is sure to be an incredibly humiliating episode? Probably because my options are limited, and I’m hoping for some kind of miracle.
Unlikely.
I sip the next glass of Scotch more slowly, letting it mellow me out. When Albright takes the empty glass away, I know I only have a few more minutes before my parents will appear. The timing is almost perfect, because the back door opens and in they come.
They’re not clad in lab coats and safety glasses like one might expect. My father is dressed in pressed khakis with a knife-like crease down the front and a white button-down shirt. My mother is wearing a black skirt, white blouse, black cardigan, nylons, and ugly shoes. They look like they’re headed on a Sunday drive rather than stepping out of a state-of-the-art lab.
“This is certainly a surprising interruption,” my mother says. Her use ofsurprising interruptionrather thanpleasant surprisedoesn’t bode well.
“Banner, how are you?” my father asks.
“Thank you for taking a few minutes out of your busy schedule to see your only daughter. I appreciate it.”
An unavoidable edge of bitterness creeps into my tone, even though I try to keep it out. But at the end of the day,I am bitter.They spend more time worrying about the mice that live in the lab than they do about me.
“We only have fifteen minutes before the next set of results needs to be recorded, so you’ll have to excuse us if this seems brief.” My mother might as well be talking to a stranger, for all the friendliness in her voice.
“I’ll make it quick then,” I say, thankful for the warmth of the Scotch pooling in my belly. “I need to borrow some money.”
My parents’ eyes meet before either responds.
“Absolutely out of the question,” my mother replies.
“You have your own money, as you so frequently like to remind us,” my father adds.
“I just need to have it in my bank account. I won’t even spend it. If I don’t have it, I’m going to get evicted.”
My father’s salt-and-pepper brows draw together. “Evicted? For what reason?”
Deep breath, Banner. “I lost my job, and apparently there’s a clause in my lease that says you have to be employed or have an income from other means to continue to lease an apartment.”
“You lost another job?”
I would like to say my mother sounds surprised, but she really doesn’t. My employment history isn’t exactly studded with employee-of-the-month plaques, which is why I know my future is being my own boss.
But I can’t tell my parents about the business I’m working on. Not only will they disapprove, they’ll tear my ideas to shreds. Scientific method, my ass.
“Yes, I got fired. Again.”
My mother sends my father a look that saysI have no idea where we went wrong, do you?His silent response agrees that this is not their fault.
“Never mind,” I say, holding up a hand. “I should have known better than to think my parents would care that their only child is going to be evicted from her apartment with minimal notice.”
“You need to learn to manage your trust fund better. What kind of parents would we be if we didn’t allow you to face the consequences of your own actions?”
I want more than anything to screamthe kind that care, but there’s no point in emotional displays when you’re dealing with Jansen and Jane Regent.
Hello, homelessness. We’re going to become well acquainted.
I straighten my spine and give both of them a nod. “I don’t want to keep you. I’ll let you know where I end up eventually.”
“This kind of self-pity isn’t constructive, Banner. I hope you learn something from this experience to apply to future situations,” my mother says.