Something would come.

Anything would come.

Nothing came.

Absolutely zero opportunities.

I became desperate.

Student loans were knocking at my door, responsibility was flooding around my feet.

I needed a job.

Angela was my only option. She offered me temporary placement within the company, a low-ball salary that forced me to live with my mom so I could maintain living in Southern California, and a promise that if I performed my job well, that after a year, my salary would triple—yes, triple, that’s how much of a pay cut I took—and she’d give me a permanent position. Mom and Jeff said I’d be a fool to take it. That she’d screw me over somehow.

But I had no other options. Absolutely none. So, I had no choice, in my mind. I took it.

And I slayed.

Over the next few months, I saw extreme growth of the lifestyle blog. Celebrities started backing it, and before I knew it, Angeloop had become a household name. I was a part of that. I threw a “told you so” right at Mom and Jeff after our first featured spot on the Today Show. I said I had to put the time in, and good things would happen.

Can you hear the sarcastic laughter now?

Not only do I have no money, but now I have no job, and in a week—unless I want to tell Mom and Jeff the truth—nowhere to live.

As Rachel Green would say, isn’t that just kick-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck fantastic?

“Did you sign a lease yet? I know you found a place over in West Hollywood near your sister you liked.”

That I did, but thank God for my fear of commitment, because I didn’t sign the lease. That would’ve just added to this nightmare.

“I didn’t quite like that place; the vibe wasn’t there.”

Jeff laughs. “Maura, do you remember being twenty-five, searching for a place to live based off a vibe?” He playfully clutches his chest. “The memories.”

My mom chuckles and smooths her hand over his back. “I remember I found a one-room square over in Koreatown where the toilet was next to my bed and I’d use it as a nightstand. It was in those nightstand-toilet-seat moments that I thought, wow, the vibe here is real . . .” Mom looks at me. “Real poor, that is.”

Chuckling, Jeff nods. “Toilet nightstand, got me beat there. I just had a neighbor with a broom that wrecked my vibe all the time.”

I look between the two of them. “You know I’m borderline a Gen Z’er; the sarcasm can cut deep at times.”

They both laugh and then Mom says, “You’re a soft millennial. That’s okay, honey. You can stay with Mommy and Stepdaddy for as long as you want. We love having no privacy.” She smirks and I know she’s teasing. She’d never kick me out of the house, but I also know they’ve been looking forward to my departure for a while.

“If you like having no privacy, then we might as well have a slumber party tonight. We can all cuddle up in your queen-size bed.”

Jeff holds up his hand. “Please, spare me.”

Poor Jeff, such a good guy, and I can see that he does want to have some privacy with my mom. He’s been with us since I was fifteen. I think he’s ready to have some serious alone time with my mom. And just like that, the guilt builds. Does it suck that Angela fucked me over? Of course, but what sucks even more is if I don’t figure this out, I’m going to be fucking Jeff and my mom out of the freedom they’ve been looking forward to.

“We really want to walk around naked,” Mom says out of the blue. When I give her a horrified look, she says, “Whenever you’re hanging out with your sister, that’s what we do. We turn on some Harry Connick Jr., strip down, and then dance naked in the living room.”

“Oh my God, why are you telling me this?” I set my fork down, the possibility of eating dwindling. Yes, Jeff and my mom are attractive people; Jeff lifts weights in the garage and Mom keeps up with her physique, but good Christ! Not something you want to envision.

“Just so you know what we’re looking forward to.” She winks and then dips a fish stick in tartar sauce casually.

“I could’ve done without knowing.” I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest.

Mom waves her fork at my plate. “Eat up, sweetie. Cobbler is waiting for you.”

How could I forget?

From behind a bush, I peek through the branches and watch as Jeff pulls my mom in for a kiss, gives her ass a squeeze—ugh, old people—and then they both get in their cars and head to work. I don’t pop out of the bushes right away, instead, I wait another two minutes just to make sure they didn’t forget anything. With my luck, they’d return home just as I was busting open a bag of chips.

When I feel the coast is clear, I move around the bush, attempting to not snag my black pencil skirt on a branch—can’t afford to lose any good interview clothes—and I trudge across the street in my generic black heels. Thank God for seven-foot shrubs, because I don’t think they noticed a thing. I tiptoe up the sidewalk to the house, unlock the door, slip inside, and then let out a deep breath.

Mission accomplished. Although, now I’m wondering why I didn’t just drive to Kelsey’s place rather than worry about all this subterfuge.

The hum of the fridge fills the rather quiet house. Everything is in order, not a throw pillow out of place, not a single dish in the sink. Mom probably wants this. Peace. The ability to enjoy the home she’s worked so hard to keep.

Not that I’m loud or obnoxious or a bad “roommate,” but there’s something to having a house to yourself, being able to do what you want without the repercussions of someone walking in on you. That’s what Mom and Jeff want desperately.

I know this because they mention it almost every day.

I need to find a job, and quick.

Not only because I want to be able to give my mom peace with Jeff, but because this girl doesn’t have much in the bank account and student loans won’t pay themselves. Not to mention my high school reunion is coming up and wouldn’t it just be a freaking cactus to the armpit if I show up, unemployed, up to my eyeballs in student loans, wearing a dress from five years ago, and still living with my mom?

And it’s not as if I can’t show up, because if I don’t show up, Angela will know why, and I can’t give her the satisfaction of knowing I relied on her.

No, I need to figure this out.

I head back to my bedroom and change out of my work outfit and into a pair of shorts and a ratty Taylor Swift shirt that I’ve had for over a decade.

As I make it back into the living room, my phone beeps with a text.

Kelsey: All clear?

Lottie: Clear.

A few minutes later, Kelsey comes busting through the door with tequila and margarita fixings in hand. “The items to forget all your troubles are here.”

I walk up to her, take the tequila, and then give her a hug. “Thank you for coming over.”

“What are sisters for? Plus, I have a light day today. Just fielding some emails. I brought my computer with me so I can get some work done as well.”

“While drinking?” I ask, brow raised. “Doesn’t seem like a smart idea.”

“We’re going to take it slow.” She gives me a pointed look. “Alcohol can ease the pain, but it’s not going to fix anything. Unless . . . have you decided to tell Mom and Jeff? Because if that’s the case, I’ll get shit-faced with you right now. You say the word, and our heads will be battling for prime-time toilet space in two hours.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not telling Mom and Jeff.” Margarita fixings in hand, we both walk to the kitchen, where we set everything on the counter. “I don’t think I have it in me to tell them. You should’ve seen their faces last night when they were talking about having the house to themselves and having the opportunity to finally dance around naked.”