by James Hunt
***
After bedrooms were ceremoniously picked by Matt and Chloe, everyone pitched in and carried their belongings off the U-Haul. Claire and Owen handled the larger items - couches, beds, chairs, tables - while the kids brought in what boxes they could, with Roger supervising.
Once everything was unpacked and everyone was sweaty and exhausted, Owen ordered a pizza from the closest Domino’s, which was thirty minutes away. After some haggling with the kid who took his order, he managed to convince them to deliver to their house for a premium fee.
And so with paper plates, napkins, two extra-large supreme pizzas with extra bacon, and a two-liter bottle of root beer to wash it all down, his family sat at the large dining room table underneath enormous skylights and ate. And for the first time in six months, Owen sighed with relief. His family was laughing, smiling, and not worried about what tomorrow would bring. The new job wasn’t just a paycheck, it was safety.
If you ever wanted to know what fear and desperation looked like, Owen would tell you to go down to the local unemployment center and look in the eyes of the men and women waiting in line to speak with a clerk. Beyond the bouncing legs, fidgeting fingers, and long exhales riddled with anxiety, you’ll find the worst combination of fear, anger, and hate swirling around their souls. Anger for failing, fear for failing again, and a hate for everything that put them in their situation.
It had been less than a week since Owen’s interview and simultaneous hire over the phone at Gary’s desk, but he’d never forget those faces or that feeling of helplessness. He was thankful to be done with it.
Chloe belched, the deep burp rattling at an octave lower than any five-year-old girl should be able to do. She covered her mouth, shocked by her own body, and Matt and Roger burst out laughing.
“Chloe Grace Cooley,” Claire said, a smile in her tone. “Excuse you, young lady.”
“I think it was the root beer,” Chloe said, giggling.
Owen reached across the table and grabbed her cup. “I’m cutting you off.”
“Daaaaad,” Chloe said, whining.
“No, Dad’s right,” Claire said. “Time to get ready for bed. Wash that pizza off your face, and your father and I will be up in a little bit to tuck you in.”
Chloe and Matt slid from their chairs and sprinted from the dining room and toward the staircase which led to the second-floor balcony and their rooms, their feet thumping against the old steps as their pizza- and soda-fueled legs carried them up the stairs.
Claire went to reach for their plates, but Roger got up quickly. “I’ll take care of that.”
“Dad, you don’t have to,” Claire said.
Roger waved her off with an ‘eh.’ “And I’ll get the kids to bed. Why don’t you two turn in?”
“You sure?” Claire asked.
“Positive,” Roger answered, kissing the top of her head as he passed.
“Thanks, Dad.”
They retired to the bedroom and Claire flopped on the bed, the sheets piled messily on top of the bare mattress. “If there is a harder test of patience than driving eleven hundred miles with two kids and a geriatric over the course of two days, I don’t want to take it.”
Owen lay down next to her and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Claire asked.
“Your dad and the kids aren’t the only ones who left their home.”
“I’ll miss it, but everything I need is still right here.” She rolled closer to him, her lips less than an inch from his. “So what do you want to do now that we don’t have any bedtime responsibilities?”
Owen smiled, kissed her, and turned off the lights.
