Rm w/a Vu(8)

“Hey, Mom! I’m home,” I announce before hiking up the stairs and putting my bag in my room. I toss the paper and my laptop onto the bed and am just slipping out of my coffee-stained work shirt and into a light tank and jeans when my mom comes in and flops down on my bed.

“How was work?”

“Good.”

“Did you get your paper done?” she asks, lying on her side as I affix my loose ponytail into a bun to keep the hair off my neck before it sticks, and I turn my fan on the highest setting.

I shake my head. “Nah. I got a good start on it, though, so I should be able to finish it in plenty of time.”

“That’s good.” Behind me, I hear the crinkle of paper and turn around to see her picking up my ads. “What’s this?”

Scrunching my nose, I cross my arms in front of me. “I was looking through the classifieds for a place. Daphne can’t get me into a new dorm room so late in the year, so I figured I would look into renting a place.”

“Sweetheart, you’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”

I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I have to be honest with her; she knows when I’m not. “Mom, you and Dad are clearly enjoying having the house to yourselves. I really don’t want to intrude on that…and not just because it’s absolutely horrifying.” She gives me the “Mom-look,” and I roll my eyes in response. “Let me put it in a way that you can understand: could you go back to living with Grandma and Grandpa if—”

Mom’s hands quickly fly up to cover her ears, and she clenches her eyes shut. “Okay! I get your point!”

Satisfied, I smile. “Then I rest my case. Come on, I’ll make us some dinner.” I take one of her hands and pull her to her feet. She snatches the paper up and brings it with her.

While I cook dinner for the two of us, Mom sits at the table and looks at all the ads I’ve circled and laughs at the ones I’ve eliminated. “You know, this one guy might not be so bad.”

I shoot a glance at her with an arched brow. “You mean the hot chicks guy?” Mom nods. “Mmm, no thanks. I’ve had my fill of self-righteous assholes to last me a lifetime.”

Bypassing the fact that I just swore—something I don’t do much of at all, let alone in front of my parents—my mother continues. “I bet he’s cute…”

I laugh dryly. “There isn’t a doubt in my mind,” I tell her as I cook the chicken for our salads.

“Juliette?” I turn my head to see she’s now leaning over the counter that separates the dining area from the kitchen. “I know that living off-campus, even with a roommate, can be quite expensive.” She’s not kidding; I’ve already decided to take on more shifts at work so I’ll be able to afford it and food. “Your father and I are going to help. If you find a place, you let us know how much it is and we’ll pay half.”

I shake my head; it’s far too generous an offer. “Mom—”

She doesn’t let me finish. “You still have to keep your grades up, but I don’t want you to have to work even more just because you can’t afford to live. That’s how people wind up quitting their education. We want what’s best for you, and we’re just so proud.”

I rush around the counter and wrap my mom in my arms. “Thanks, Mom. This really means a lot. I’ll try to find a place that’s reasonably priced.”

She laughs, rubbing my back lightly as she embraces me back. “That’s all we ask, dear.”

After dinner, I tell Mom I need to work on my paper, but as soon as I’m on my bed, my laptop open in front of me, I can’t seem to focus on it. So, deciding I need to take a break already, I grab the paper and my phone and start to make a few phone calls.

The first place I call sounded great when I found it earlier, but as soon as I start talking to the woman, I realize it isn’t for me. While the idea of a house with three appliances and access to a personal laundry room sounds great, the fact that the woman was charging close to fifteen hundred dollars a month did not. That is more than my entire month’s salary. There’s no way I can afford that, even with help from my parents.

I call a couple more, and either they’re taken or the person renting it sounds like a total crack addict. Honestly, I don’t fancy taking care of some junkie’s screaming children while they cook meth in the shared basement and blow us all sky-high. Nah, I’m good.

I blow through all the ads on Craigslist and most of the ones in the paper. I’m starting to lose all hope that I’ll find a place and contemplate not calling the one ad I have left for fear of being disappointed, yet again. I look at the ad left in the paper and read it again: