You've been cerved.

Tamra

From the safety of her discrete parking spot, Tamra watched and listened as Claire Balakrishnan, nee O'Malley, fumed in the crisp autumn morning.

"I know the hot water doesn't work!" Claire shouted into her phone, slamming her car door shut. "So you boil cold water, Vikram! That makes the water hot! Then you wash a dish! Maybe even two!"

Tamra decided to wait to make her presence known. With a sigh, Tamra glanced at her phone, lying beside her in the front passenger seat. "C'mon, Darius, answer me!" Tamra whispered. "Are you here?" It seemed Darius was refusing all contact with blood relatives, at least on his mother's side, for the time being.

"What do you mean - WHERE? You boil water on the STOVE! No! Don't take the dirty dishes to your MOTHER'S! Vikram! I'm warning you!" Claire began to pace up and down the street in front of her father's house.

Tamra sank low in her seat to avoid detection. When she could hear Claire, but not see her, Tamra realized she could just about see the whole of the O'Malley house, situated on a small hill beside the street.

The O'Malley house, a blue, two-storied colonial in one of the city's nicer suburbs, was more dingy and unkempt than Tamra had ever seen it. It stuck out like a redheaded stepchild next to all the nicely manicured 'old South' style split-level wannabe McMansions surrounding it, Tamra decided. Where every other yard was recently pruned and tastefully landscaped, at the O'Malley house most of the grass seemed to have died under a thick carpet of yellow leaves and the O'Malley porch furniture was red with rust.

Tamra lifted her head up to check where Claire was.

"You know how to use a sponge, Vikram! You rub vigorously! Pretend the plate is your dick!" Claire jerked her free hand up and down, her eyes scanning the street.

Tamra ducked down again.

"What do you mean I'M VULGAR? I'm just trying to give you directions you'll understand!" Claire shouted.

Tamra squinted. Someone had hung a bright, obviously new autumnal wreath of pinecones and red ribbon on the O'Malley front door. The wreath was a strange splash of color amidst the general neglect.

"I don't want to come home to a mountain of dirty dishes, Vikram!" Claire's voice shot up a notch.

The last time Tamra had been to this house - if she remembered well - was almost four years ago, just before Mrs. O'Malley's big stroke. At that time, as was custom, Tamra had waited in her car until Darius had come stomping down the front yard wearing a pair of sneakers that Tamra knew (thanks to her students) retailed for the price of her car.

"No! Don't 'invite' your mom over! Vikram! PLEASE!" Claire was close by - or just really loud. "She'll clean everything!"

Tamra smiled as she remembered how a bashful Darius had later admitted to his Aunty Tamra that the sneakers were fake - purchased against Darius's wishes from a DC street vendor by Darius's dad in a fruitless attempt to provoke Darius's mom.

"NO! It's NOT NICE when your mom cleans, Vikram!" Claire cried, interrupting Tamra's thoughts again.

Darius's mom, Tamra's sister Adrianne, had always shouldered the majority of Darius's financial needs. Liam O'Malley was an enthusiastic but largely unknown social science researcher, and his work, however poorly paid, came before less pressing responsibilities....like shoes and food for his kid.

Claire blew a raspberry. "What do you MEAN, what's the DIFFERENCE? She's not our MAID, Vikram!"

That's why Liam has never had any other children. He can't even afford the one he has, Tamra still snorted at her mother's rare joke, shared only once at a family Thanksgiving after an unusual glass of wine. Tamra blamed Liam for the ensuing uproar - he'd been particularly insufferable at that dinner, going on about how poverty was noble if it was a choice. The 'Thanksgiving incident' hadn't led to the break-up between Liam and Adrianne - that had happened long before - but it did contribute to more distant relations with the O'Malleys.