Read Online Pink Slip Party by Cara Lockwood - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cara Lockwood
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parents’ house is long and I’m squashed between smart-looking commuters in pinstripes and black wool. I’m wearing the furry pink V-neck cashmere sweater and black skirt Mom gave me last Christmas, along with the silver earrings Dad gave me the year before, in an obvious brownnosing ploy. I put on my kitten-heeled knee-high boots just because they make me feel confident and capable, two traits I’m going to need when I plead my case to the Bank of Parental Control.
I almost look like one of the Employed, lacking only a brief-case and the tired look of someone who’s been sitting under fluorescent lights all day.
My parents’ stop takes forever to reach, and I read every single advertisement in the train car ten or twelve times — including the get-out-of-debt ones in Spanish.
As I step off the train at the Dempster stop, I notice everything but the adjacent bank is pitch black. Evanston, for all its fine houses, invests nothing in streetlights. It’s a good thing there aren’t too many violent crimes on the North Shore, or the city might be liable. I nearly trip over a large, gaping crack in the sidewalk which would have been illuminated had the streetlight above me been working. I wonder if I break my ankle, if Mom could get Dad to spring for a doctor’s visit.
I get to Mom and Dad’s house around ten after seven, but Todd has already been there for fifteen minutes. Kyle is also there, as well as Todd’s new girlfriend, Deena, who has herself half-draped over Todd’s shoulder.
Kyle is sitting on the couch drinking Harp from a bottle and looking immensely pleased with himself. This is probably because he is.
“Happy Birthday, Jane,” Kyle says from the couch.
“Thanks,” I say, but I am distracted by Deena, who is wearing too much make-up and not enough sweater. It clings to her, leaving nothing to the imagination, and I can tell Mom is uncomfortable because she avoids looking at the corner of the room where the girlfriend is sitting. Dad, however, seems to like the girlfriend quite a lot and keeps asking her if she wants anything to drink when she already has a glass of water in her hand.
Kyle, I notice, is taking in the scene with some amusement. I almost think he hangs out with Todd and my nuclear family for the sheer entertainment value.
“Jane!” cries Mom, distracting me as she throws her arms around my shoulders. “Happy, Happy Birthday!” she shouts, taking a silver cone hat from nowhere and placing it atop my head. The elastic strap snaps against my chin and stings. Kyle hides a smile under his hand.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say. I suspect I look like a total dork. Now would probably not be the best time to ask for money. I want to go for the “I’m responsible and will pay you back” look, not the “I’ve got the fiscal IQ of a four-year-old and can’t handle my own checking account” look.
Dad still hasn’t looked up. I fear he is in a trance, unable to stop staring at Todd’s girlfriend’s tight-fitting sweater. Todd waves at me and says, almost grudgingly, “Happy Birthday.”
I am sure he is thinking that people without jobs should not be allowed to celebrate birthdays. Either that, or he is still disappointed in my lackluster job search.
It is the latter, because not two minutes pass before he blurts out this fact.
“Jane’s not even trying to find a job,” he says. I cannot tell if he’s trying to scare me straight, or if he’s succumbed to his youthful impulse to tattle.
“I am so trying,” I say.
This, however, rouses Dad out of his tight-sweater stupor.
“Jane! You know you can’t expect someone to just hand you a job.” Dad sounds like a parrot on Todd’s shoulder. “And that apartment!” he declares.
I snort, and I don’t think he appreciates this.
“I just don’t know when you’re going to accept the fact you’re living beyond your means. I mean Todd tells us you could be getting by just fine in a smaller apartment. I don’t know why you
I almost look like one of the Employed, lacking only a brief-case and the tired look of someone who’s been sitting under fluorescent lights all day.
My parents’ stop takes forever to reach, and I read every single advertisement in the train car ten or twelve times — including the get-out-of-debt ones in Spanish.
As I step off the train at the Dempster stop, I notice everything but the adjacent bank is pitch black. Evanston, for all its fine houses, invests nothing in streetlights. It’s a good thing there aren’t too many violent crimes on the North Shore, or the city might be liable. I nearly trip over a large, gaping crack in the sidewalk which would have been illuminated had the streetlight above me been working. I wonder if I break my ankle, if Mom could get Dad to spring for a doctor’s visit.
I get to Mom and Dad’s house around ten after seven, but Todd has already been there for fifteen minutes. Kyle is also there, as well as Todd’s new girlfriend, Deena, who has herself half-draped over Todd’s shoulder.
Kyle is sitting on the couch drinking Harp from a bottle and looking immensely pleased with himself. This is probably because he is.
“Happy Birthday, Jane,” Kyle says from the couch.
“Thanks,” I say, but I am distracted by Deena, who is wearing too much make-up and not enough sweater. It clings to her, leaving nothing to the imagination, and I can tell Mom is uncomfortable because she avoids looking at the corner of the room where the girlfriend is sitting. Dad, however, seems to like the girlfriend quite a lot and keeps asking her if she wants anything to drink when she already has a glass of water in her hand.
Kyle, I notice, is taking in the scene with some amusement. I almost think he hangs out with Todd and my nuclear family for the sheer entertainment value.
“Jane!” cries Mom, distracting me as she throws her arms around my shoulders. “Happy, Happy Birthday!” she shouts, taking a silver cone hat from nowhere and placing it atop my head. The elastic strap snaps against my chin and stings. Kyle hides a smile under his hand.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say. I suspect I look like a total dork. Now would probably not be the best time to ask for money. I want to go for the “I’m responsible and will pay you back” look, not the “I’ve got the fiscal IQ of a four-year-old and can’t handle my own checking account” look.
Dad still hasn’t looked up. I fear he is in a trance, unable to stop staring at Todd’s girlfriend’s tight-fitting sweater. Todd waves at me and says, almost grudgingly, “Happy Birthday.”
I am sure he is thinking that people without jobs should not be allowed to celebrate birthdays. Either that, or he is still disappointed in my lackluster job search.
It is the latter, because not two minutes pass before he blurts out this fact.
“Jane’s not even trying to find a job,” he says. I cannot tell if he’s trying to scare me straight, or if he’s succumbed to his youthful impulse to tattle.
“I am so trying,” I say.
This, however, rouses Dad out of his tight-sweater stupor.
“Jane! You know you can’t expect someone to just hand you a job.” Dad sounds like a parrot on Todd’s shoulder. “And that apartment!” he declares.
I snort, and I don’t think he appreciates this.
“I just don’t know when you’re going to accept the fact you’re living beyond your means. I mean Todd tells us you could be getting by just fine in a smaller apartment. I don’t know why you
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