That was his father’s cue to jump in. “Why can’t you get a job like that?”
Ross knew what this was about. And he was proved right as his dad began to lecture him about staying in Magdalena, while his mom nodded her agreement. They didn’t have a counterculture bone in their bodies and, to them, living on his cousin’s organic ranch was tantamount to joining a commune. This was nonsense, his father told him, and he needed to stop playing at being some sort of hippie and start seriously looking for a job. Ross didn’t bother to remind his dad that he had been job hunting. For over a year. And despite the fact that, until he’d been laid off, he’d been far more successful than either his brother or sister, not to mention far more stable, he’d gotten much less support from his parents than his siblings had, either monetarily or emotionally.
But his parents saw him as some fuzzy-brained freeloader who had no desire to work.
Ross walked out in the middle of his father’s lecture, not wanting to argue. Ignoring his dad’s demands to “Get back here! Right now!”, he closed and locked the door to the hall bathroom and took a long, lingering shower. By the time he got out, as he’d hoped, his parents were in the bedroom, their door closed. He didn’t know whether they were asleep or not, and he didn’t care. He was just glad they weren’t in the living room. His mom hadn’t bothered to make up the couch for him, so he got a sheet, pillow and blanket from the linen closet and did it himself, making as little noise as possible so they wouldn’t come out and lecture him again.
He fell asleep watching David Letterman.
There was silence at the breakfast table in the morning. He tried to smooth things over by talking about how he’d be in pretty good financial shape once the condo sale went through, but his father would have none of that. “What I was trying to tell you,” his dad said, “was that you need to stop pretending to be a farmer and get back to looking for a job. Things change fast in the engineering field, and you’ve already been away from it for a year.”
Ross met his gaze. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then why aren’t you out looking for work?”
“I am, Dad. Every day. My resume is on about a million sites, I keep up with openings and hiring calls…”
“You can’t do everything through a computer. You have to be out there, pounding the pavement, showing your face, going to personnel departments so companies get to know you.”
“Sure. And I’ll put on my cufflinks and my hamburg—”
“Don’t you get smart with me, young man!”
“I’m not looking for a job in 1950, Dad. This is the way it’s done today.”
“You’re lazy. That’s your problem. I don’t know why you’re out there on a farm instead of here in the city—”
Ross leaned across the table. “You want to know why? Because I was out of money and couldn’t afford to keep my condo. I almost had to walk away from it and let the bank foreclose, but now, fortunately, I can actually sell it. Lita offered me a place to live. You didn’t, Dad. Neither did Alma or Rick, despite all I’ve done for them. You’re all a bunch of… Forget it.” He stood. “I’m leaving.”
His mother was scowling at him. “Don’t you talk to your father that way!”
She was still lecturing him as he walked out the kitchen door and into the living room. His one suitcase was already packed, and he picked it up, shouted out a terse “Goodbye!” and headed out to his car.
He drove.
He had nowhere to go and no place to be until he was to meet Jamie Wong and the buyer at his old condo at ten, so he ended up at a McDonald’s in Mesa, where he sipped refill after refill of coffee as he read each useless section of USA Today and The Arizona Republic. Where was he going to sleep tonight? he wondered. He didn’t want to go back to his parents’ house. And he certainly wasn’t going to call his brother or sister. Could he make it back to Magdalena? Maybe. But he was thinking of seeing his friends again this evening—who knew when he might see them next?—and he decided to splurge and stay at a cheap motel. He had money coming in. He deserved to celebrate.
Ross arrived at the condominium before Jamie Wong and the buyer. He still had a key and let himself in. The place smelled musty and dusty; the air felt warm and heavy. He walked from room to room, opening the shades as he did so. The condo looked bigger than he recalled, partially due to the lack of furniture, partly because he was used to the much smaller confines of the L-Bar D’s guest house. He walked back out to the kitchen, admiring the abundant counterspace.