"But Gramps, you need me here," I protest lamely.
"I’ll need you more there.You get how I think.I won’t have to babysit you.You’re mature for your age."
Uncle Robert mutters under his breath, "Because Rachel is an old fart in a young body."
I give him a dirty look.He’s not wrong, but that was a little uncalled for.I’m a delicate flower.
Who films shit for a living.
"Wait, where is this new place located?Sharon?"My hand moves the mouse at lightning speed, using Google Maps to calculate the distance."Holy Pete, do you know what that commute is like?If you think I’m late now, can you even imagine when I have that drive?"
It’s an hour without traffic.Around Boston, there’s never not traffic.
Gramps looks at Uncle Robert.Then he looks down at his desk.Then he looks out the window.Basically, anywhere but me.
"Gramps?"I stand up and cross to his desk.He’ll have no choice but to look at me.
"We think it’s time you move out."
He might just as well have kicked me in the stomach.It feels—almost—like hearing Richie’s diagnosis for the first time.My body certainly has the same reaction, the bile rising in my throat and threatening to make an appearance.The periphery of my vision begins to darken.
"What do you mean?"Maybe I heard him wrong.I know I didn’t, but one can hope.
"Gram and I think it’s about time you stepped out on your own."
"I don’t want to be on my own."
"Rachel, you’re almost thirty.I get why you’re a homebody.I understand it.But it’s not normal.You have to go out into the world at some point."
"I go out into the world!"My voice rises three octaves."I went to West Boxford two days ago."
"Only because there was sewage all over the place," Uncle Robert mutters.He is not helping.Seriously, whose team is he on anyway?
"Yeah, well, it’s hard working here full time and then doing all the social media.And you both know this business has exploded because of my channel.We’re only expanding because of me, and now you’re sending me away?You’re kicking me out?"My voice breaks on the last word.
"Gram and I aren’t kicking you out.We’re giving you an opportunity to spread your wings."
"Yeah, by pushing me off the perch!"
"Rachel," Gramps says, his patience wearing thin."You don’t go anywhere.You don’t do anything.We’re worried about you."
"I go places!I’m planning things."I’m totally not, but my rational brain is shutting down in favor of my go-to, panic brain.My gaze darts around the room, looking for a lifeline—something,anything—that will save me and anchor me to this place.I spy the stack of copies of Richie’s letter."I’m going to a professional soccer game."I plop down in my seat and start wiggling my mouse again."I was just going online to buy myself a ticket."
Gramps folds his arms over his chest."When?"
"Right now.It’s what I was doing before you so rudely interrupted me by kicking me out.It’s one of the things on Richie’s list."My fingers shake as I do a Google search for the team."Ah, right here.There’s a game on September first."It’s almost a month away, so maybe I can use that to delay the inevitability of my moving out.
"Sounds perfect.The Buzzards play right near the new office.It’ll be something to do while you get settled down there."
My mouth falls open in disbelief.Before I can respond, Gramps walks back into his office and shuts the door.The discussion—not that there was one—is over.
I’ll appeal to a higher power.
"I’ve got to run back to the house for a minute."
Uncle Robert doesn’t look up from his computer."Coffee kicking in?"
Usually saying I’ve got to run back to the house is code for needing to use the bathroom.Though we literally make a living on other people’s excrement, I don’t feel the need to have my own habits analyzed or scrutinized by whoever may be passing through.Plus, I work with a bunch of old dudes, so the bathroom is pretty nasty here.
