Broken Carts ✔️

Aisle 9: Outcome

One of the infallible truisms in my family is that if my parents invite/command me to eat dinner with them, they're either about to dump some bad news or rip me a new one. When I returned from Niagara Falls with so many bags under my eyes I needed a luggage cart to drag them around, Mom ever-so-delicately demanded my presence at the dinner table at six o' clock. Thanks to the advance warning, I made sure to prepare a pre-dinner cocktail in my quarters.

"This is difficult for me to tell you," said Dad as he gripped a glass of sparkling grape juice, a telltale sign of his pledge to sobriety. "But there's been a death in the family."

"Who is it?" My jaunty cadence seemed to offend my parents, so I tried again in a monotone. "I mean, that's terrible and all, I just wanna know..."

Gravely, Dad stared me in the eyes. "Johnson."

I cannot express how hard it was for me to suppress laughter while my head was buzzing. "Johnson," I clarified. "Like, our old dog that Jude took to college with him."

"Yes."

I snorted. Mom glared. I probably would've had my branch cut from the family tree had I not quickly disguised it as a cough. "Ahem, sorry. That's awful. Rest in peace, ol' buddy." Trying to appear pious, I performed the sign of the cross. Don't think it won me any points with the parents.

"Jude's incredibly broken up about it. We're going to take a trip out there to console him," Mom explained.

Feasibly, I could see Jude sobbing over our dog that had its will to live sucked out by numerous tumors before Jude had even left for school. But I also knew that deep down, my parents ached for any excuse to visit my brother in sunny Florida. I secretly hoped they were going to plan for retirement while they were down there.

"Do I have to go?" I asked. "Er, do you want me to go?"

"You're invited, of course. I'm sure Jude would love to see you," said Mom.

"How long would we be gone?"

"About ten days," Dad told me. "We're leaving in two weeks."

There were a couple factors to consider in this decision. First and foremost, the mere thought of traveling with my parents– time spent at the destination not included– would undoubtedly be Hell on Earth. Second, I would most likely be sharing Jude's cramped guest room with the same snoring, arguing, generally old parents. Third, though it went without saying, any alcohol consumption would be one hundred percent out of the question.

Most importantly, my parents hardly ever took trips together. The last time they did, it was my senior year, right before graduation. People in my class still revere the party I threw as the top rager of high school. Clean up was a bitch, but in the end not a single picture frame or coffee table book was out of place. I knew for a fact I could get away with it again.

"I might need to work," I told them. "It's, uh, apparently a really busy couple weeks coming up at Vita-Mart."

"Because of Football season, I'd imagine," Dad surmised.

"Right," I lied through my teeth.

Mom sighed. "Well, if you find out you can go, we'll buy your ticket."

As soon as I got to my room, I collapsed into a fit of laughter and poured myself another drink. I prepared a text to send to Lynette and Ezra about the encounter with my parents, but I knew I couldn't send it; after all, our trip ended on a weird, tense note. Lynette had remained totally quiet during the car ride home, which was unusual. And Ezra, God, who knew where I stood with him. He wanted me to tell him not to regret what had happened, to not get "pushed around" by him, whatever that meant– but telling stone-faced, sober Ezra what to do sounded like a death wish.