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Authors: Teresa Toten
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knew this stuff, so she knew. Absolutely she knew. Not only did she know, but she knew and she wasn’t running.
His life was going to be perfect—better than perfect. Adam was on his way straight to
superior
.
CHAPTER 10
Adam painstakingly drizzled a lemon-and-butter mixture onto the free-range, organic chicken breasts. The chicken was nestled in a special glass microwave container. They had a bazillion glass containers. More, even. Despite the fact that you could barely see the stove or the counter surfaces these days, Mrs. Ross was alive and alert to the dangers of Bisphenol A. She would not allow canned goods into the house and forbade her son to use anything but glass in the microwave lest the BPA mess with his hormone health. You couldn’t put your foot down without stepping on a box of something, yet Carmella waged a personal war against a toxic universe. As if to underscore that point, Adam tripped over an industrial-sized box of Greenearth Biodegradable Garbage Bags.
“Ouch!”
He could get rid of some stuff. He could. Adam thought about sneaking stuff out at least a hundred times every day. There was so much, she wouldn’t notice. He’d start with a couple of small things in the dining room and if she—
“Honey?” The front door slammed.
“In the kitchen, Mom.”
He could hear her picking her way along the hallway and shuffling the mail at the same time. “Damn it to hell.” Something was kicked.
When she got to the kitchen, Carmella smiled broadly for her son. “Hey, baby, that smells so good!”
“Thanks, Mom, but I haven’t put it in yet. The potatoes are done, though, and the chicken will only be a few minutes.”
“Right, well, the potatoes smell awesome. You’re a great chef. You and that brother of yours should open up a restaurant someday.” Adam glanced at her hand, which was clutching the day’s mail. “Except, of course, you’re on track for Princeton.” She clutched harder. “Right?” Her voice was tight. “I’m raising a Princeton man, right?”
“Right.”
His mother crumpled the mail in her left hand. Adam considered telling her about Robyn. He’d sort of wanted to for weeks now. He would tell her about Robyn wanting to be a Catholic. A new friend, a friend who was a girl, and one who was deep into religion. That would have been a Carmella Ross trifecta of happiness, but the time was never right. Her hand held the balled-up mail so tight that it looked like her veins were going to pop.
The time was never right.
“Is Ben’s dad still coming to pick you up after dinner?” His mom was in her scrubs and wearing one of Dad’s old sweaters. Not that long ago, Carmella always changed and put on a fresh coat of lipstick before coming home, no matter the time, the shift or who was awake.
“Yeah.” He didn’t take his eyes off the letters. “We’re going to video his garage Warhammer setup for YouTube. It’ll be chill!”
Carmella nodded as if she understood what her son had just said. The veins in her hand popped with the strain of clutching. She wasn’t paying attention, not really. “He’s a good kid, that Ben. Always there for you.” The microwave tinged and she jumped. “Oh!” She collected herself. “I’ve, uh, always liked Ben … He’s a good boy.”
Adam frowned and pulled out the chicken. He tried to direct a plate to her clenched left hand. “Mom?” He had to ask. “Look, what’s up with those?”
“Nothing! I’m not even going to read it, honey.” She ignored the plate and fished out a cream-colored envelope amidst the rolled-up junk mail and pleas from environmental groups. It had a typed label, indicating recipient and recipient’s address. So innocuous. Adam put her plate down and tapped his forefinger behind him on the counter edge. This would need seven sets of nine taps counter-clockwise. Just as he started, she ripped the envelope apart.
“Mom, don’t!” He had to start counting all over again.
“It’s garbage,
His life was going to be perfect—better than perfect. Adam was on his way straight to
superior
.
CHAPTER 10
Adam painstakingly drizzled a lemon-and-butter mixture onto the free-range, organic chicken breasts. The chicken was nestled in a special glass microwave container. They had a bazillion glass containers. More, even. Despite the fact that you could barely see the stove or the counter surfaces these days, Mrs. Ross was alive and alert to the dangers of Bisphenol A. She would not allow canned goods into the house and forbade her son to use anything but glass in the microwave lest the BPA mess with his hormone health. You couldn’t put your foot down without stepping on a box of something, yet Carmella waged a personal war against a toxic universe. As if to underscore that point, Adam tripped over an industrial-sized box of Greenearth Biodegradable Garbage Bags.
“Ouch!”
He could get rid of some stuff. He could. Adam thought about sneaking stuff out at least a hundred times every day. There was so much, she wouldn’t notice. He’d start with a couple of small things in the dining room and if she—
“Honey?” The front door slammed.
“In the kitchen, Mom.”
He could hear her picking her way along the hallway and shuffling the mail at the same time. “Damn it to hell.” Something was kicked.
When she got to the kitchen, Carmella smiled broadly for her son. “Hey, baby, that smells so good!”
“Thanks, Mom, but I haven’t put it in yet. The potatoes are done, though, and the chicken will only be a few minutes.”
“Right, well, the potatoes smell awesome. You’re a great chef. You and that brother of yours should open up a restaurant someday.” Adam glanced at her hand, which was clutching the day’s mail. “Except, of course, you’re on track for Princeton.” She clutched harder. “Right?” Her voice was tight. “I’m raising a Princeton man, right?”
“Right.”
His mother crumpled the mail in her left hand. Adam considered telling her about Robyn. He’d sort of wanted to for weeks now. He would tell her about Robyn wanting to be a Catholic. A new friend, a friend who was a girl, and one who was deep into religion. That would have been a Carmella Ross trifecta of happiness, but the time was never right. Her hand held the balled-up mail so tight that it looked like her veins were going to pop.
The time was never right.
“Is Ben’s dad still coming to pick you up after dinner?” His mom was in her scrubs and wearing one of Dad’s old sweaters. Not that long ago, Carmella always changed and put on a fresh coat of lipstick before coming home, no matter the time, the shift or who was awake.
“Yeah.” He didn’t take his eyes off the letters. “We’re going to video his garage Warhammer setup for YouTube. It’ll be chill!”
Carmella nodded as if she understood what her son had just said. The veins in her hand popped with the strain of clutching. She wasn’t paying attention, not really. “He’s a good kid, that Ben. Always there for you.” The microwave tinged and she jumped. “Oh!” She collected herself. “I’ve, uh, always liked Ben … He’s a good boy.”
Adam frowned and pulled out the chicken. He tried to direct a plate to her clenched left hand. “Mom?” He had to ask. “Look, what’s up with those?”
“Nothing! I’m not even going to read it, honey.” She ignored the plate and fished out a cream-colored envelope amidst the rolled-up junk mail and pleas from environmental groups. It had a typed label, indicating recipient and recipient’s address. So innocuous. Adam put her plate down and tapped his forefinger behind him on the counter edge. This would need seven sets of nine taps counter-clockwise. Just as he started, she ripped the envelope apart.
“Mom, don’t!” He had to start counting all over again.
“It’s garbage,
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