Speechless(90)

                “I’ve got some bad news,” he tells me, his gaze still focused                     on the wooden tabletop. I wish he would look at me. But at the same time I’m                     sort of afraid of what I’d see. “I…I lost my job today.”

                Mom reaches across the table and grabs his hand. It’s weird. My                     parents have never been very lovey-dovey with each other. Maybe they’re                     different behind closed doors—not that I have ever thought about that, or would                     ever want to—but the most they ever do in front of me is cuddle on the couch                     while watching television. So I know this must be really bad.

                I want to ask what this means. For him. For us. How did this                     happen? He’s worked for his company ever since I was born. He’s never late,                     hardly ever takes a sick day. It’s like pulling teeth to get him to take his                     vacation. How could he lose his job, just like that? With no warning? Or was                     there warning, and they just didn’t say anything so I wouldn’t worry?

                “It’s going to be okay,” Mom assures me. I can’t understand how                     she can be so calm, but I’m grateful for it. “It’ll be tight for a while, but                     we’ll get through it. We can get by for now with me at the shop, and your father                     will find another job, and…” She trails off, swallowing hard, like she’s lost                     the energy to remain so optimistic.

                Dad meets my eyes, his own rimmed red. I’ve never seen him cry                     before. Not ever.

                “I’m sorry,” he says, so soft I barely hear him, and covers his                     face with one hand.

                It kills me to see him act like this. Like he’s let us both                     down. It makes me feel sick inside. I go stand behind him, wrapping my arms                     around his neck, holding as tight as I can at the awkward angle. He breathes out                     and rubs his thumb across the outside of my wrist. Mom pushes off her chair with                     a huff, leans hard against the sink, and I can tell she’s barely holding it                     together by the way she clenches her fists.

                “Roger was just looking for any excuse to get rid of you,” she                     spits. Roger is—or, was—my dad’s boss. “You should sue. You really should.”

                “Irene,” Dad says tiredly. Clearly they’ve already gone over                     this.