Page 4 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“I like being a ChorePossum, Mom.” I dodge around a stroller with a wailing baby.

“You need to grow up, Fletcher! You’re twenty-nine, you can’t run around the city doing chores forever. Where are you now? I’ll send you an Uber.”

I grimace. “Mom, I don’t want a desk job. You set up the interview, not me.”

“Fletcher, it’s a steady job with good pay, benefits, and a spiffy title. Do you want to spend your life barely making enough to pay your half of the rent? Didn’t you want to buy a new Playboy?”

“It’s a PlayStation, Mom! Station!”

“Didn’t you have a Playboy once?”

“That was a Game Boy, Mom!”

“Yes, yes, of course. And you could buy another one if you get this job.”

“I don’t want a Game Boy.”

“Well, you could travel… Haven’t you always wanted to see the world?” Mom asks. “I’ll send you a cab right now. Where are you?”

I stumble to a stop. I do want to travel. I’ve never even left the city. And this job is a shoe-in since the owner is my mom’s friend. I’ll probably get it even with my crappy interview skills.

Sure, I’ll get fired when I get distracted researching the Byzantine Empire or the history of jockstraps—but it might take them months to notice. I could save up enough for a small trip.

“Well? Where am I sending the cab?” Mom presses.

I open my mouth to reply and bare my teeth as anxiety grips my heart. Paralysis starts to set in, and I know that if I don’t calm down, I’m going to end up playing dead and missing my chore.

“I can’t, Mom,” I say, or try to. It sounds more like ‘acava’. Talking with your mouth open is hard work.

“I’m not familiar with that place,” Mom says.

I take a deep breath, then another, and remember Ben saying, Your teeth are so scary and teethy earlier this morning. I can do anything with teethy teeth! “I can’t make the interview, Mom.”

The anxiety instantly disappears like it was never there, and I break into a run again. I side step a family of four and crash into a man in a business suit.

“Watch it!” he shouts.

“Sorry!” I cry and keep running.

“You can apologize for letting me down, but you’re still letting yourself down,” Mom says. “And what girl is going to marry a toilet cleaner?”

“First of all, toilet cleaning is a legit job,” I huff as I run. “If no one does it, then how are toilets going to get clean?”

I spot a woman trying to lug a giant suitcase off the conveyor belt and pin the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“Let me help you,” I tell her.

“Clean my toilet?” Mom asks incredulously. “Does that mean you’re coming home?”

“No, I’m not coming home.” I grunt as I pull the heavy suitcase down.

“Thank you.” The woman smiles at me.

“You’re welcome.”

“Well, you don’t have to be rude about it,” Mom snaps. “You know I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I know, Mom, but toilets are only one part of the job. Right now I’m going to help a pony shifter move a talking espresso machine.”