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Chapter Two
“Darling, where were you? I was getting ready to send the police out,” my mother proclaimed as I walked through the door of 312. She perched near the door as if she’d been waiting for me. She probably had been poised to pounce as she often was.
“Sorry, Mom. I got held up at work,” I said. Pickles, my hairless cat who was my saving grace in the debacle that was my life, ran to the door at the sound of my voice. I picked him up, petting his smooth skin and giving him a kiss on the forehead. Most of my belongings from New York had stayed behind but not Pickles. He was non-negotiable. And even though my dad claimed to hate cats, I’d caught him talking to Pickles, slipping him food, and even cuddling with him on the couch frequently. He’d even bought Pickles a new sweater last week; the cat was often chilled in the air conditioning in the condo.
“You’re putting in enough hours that you could be in law school,” my dad yelled from the dining room, ruining the moment with my cat. I put him down and inhaled deeply. There was no bracing myself, though, for the nightly, incessant discussion of my crumbling future.
“Now, hush,” my mother yelled toward the dining room. She turned to me, whispering but in a voice he assuredly could hear. My mother only had one volume: headache-inducing loud. “Your father’s just in one of his moods. Long day at the office. There, there. You’ll find your way,” she said, patting my arm as if I was a child who fell off her bike and not an adult whose life had imploded. I wasn’t sure which was worse: my father’s pushiness about my career or my mother’s pity.
“Besides,” Mom added. “There are so many eligible, steady bachelors at the hotel. We’ll have you set up with a nice, stable guy in no time. I always knew Brad...”
“Mom, please,” I implored. One of the worst parts of coming home had been hearing Mom’s hindsight-is-twenty-twenty observations about how she’d known my relationship was doomed. Worse than that was her desire to fix my failed love life, assuming she’d find the answer in the hotel lobby. I’d been home five months, and I’d already had to fight off her need for blind date set-ups on a weekly basis.
“I’m just saying. A nice, stable man and a nice, stable life wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Which is exactly what I’m saying,” Dad argued. “Well, almost.”
I rubbed my temples, wondering how my life had landed here, with my parents arguing over what thirty-year-old me should do with my life.
I strolled to the dining room, reminding myself it could be so much worse. Still, after a day at Tino’s, I didn’t know if I had the mental fortitude to make it through another dysfunctional career counseling session with my parents.
I sat down to the plate Mom had carefully set in my spot, the smell of pork chops admittedly making me hungry. In New York, I’d subsisted mostly on coffee and random takeout, so the home cooking was a plus. See, I told myself, the inspirational podcast you listen to every morning is working. Be grateful for what you have.
Dad pulled a tiny piece of pork off his plate and dropped it on the ground, Pickles’ bell on his collar jingling as he dashed for it. My dad was tough and a serious man. Nonetheless, I smiled that there were some signs of softness, at least directed toward Pickles.
“Let’s say grace,” Mom said, taking my hand. I grabbed Dad’s hand, too, and the three of us bowed our heads over the pork chops.
“Thank you for this food we are about to eat. And thank you for bringing our sweet girl, Tillie, home. Please guide her as she takes her next steps.” I inhaled deeply again. This had been the prayer since January. It had probably been Mom’s prayer since I left for New York.
We dug into our food, Mom talking about an exciting new guest at the hotel who some of the girls were whispering about.
“He signed in under a name that just seems fake. I mean, he only has a first name listed as Michael. No last name. Nothing. But Jacques told us not to ask questions. We think he paid him off. We’re wondering if he’s a spy or maybe a convict or something crazy like that. It’s all quite exciting,” my mom rambled on while I dug into the pork chop.
Jacques was the owner of the Sea Escape Hotel, a luxurious oceanfront property where Mom had been a manager for as long as I could remember. I smiled as Mom continued talking about how exciting it was and how the guest was set to check out next week sometime.
“And, Tillie, Jacques said we’re going to be hiring again soon, and even though you don’t have hospitality training, he’d be willing to give you a chance based on my work.” She smiled, batting her lashes at me as if she’d just gotten me tickets to the biggest show in town.
“Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it. But I’m okay.” I did appreciate her efforts. But the hotel was not where I saw my future.
“I don’t know why you’re so stubborn. Instead of getting slopped up with spaghetti all day you would have the chance to be behind the desk with me.” It wasn’t the first time I’d heard this argument from Mom. Sometimes, I thought she had a good point. Tino’s had never been intended to be my forever. It just wasn’t exactly easy to get a job in January—or anytime—when your only job experience was a failed business. Sure, there were tons of places in Ocean City to work, but Tino’s did pay decent despite the misery. And for now, that was something. I pushed the food around on my plate, biting my tongue.
“What she should be doing is thinking about school. It’s never too late,” my dad began. And the almost nightly discussion ensued, Mom promoting the hotel job while Dad insisted on law school. They argued back and forth, a weird tug of war as to which footsteps I’d follow in, never considering I might have my own I wanted to pursue. They just assumed since the first path I’d taken didn’t work out, I’d have to see the error in my ways and follow their paths. I sat back, not really a part of the conversation even though I was the focus.
