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“This is Randall Calloway, the owner of the property at 2013 Deer Tail Road.”
“Yes?” I said excitedly, waving my hand at Mom.
She broke an egg into the mixing bowl, ignoring me.
“I just wanted to give you an update,” the man continued. “We had one other interested party, but you were the first applicant. So, we’re going to go with you. I just have to do the background check and the credit check, and we’ll need first month’s rent and the deposit.”
“Right,” I said, all business.
“Can you come by my office tomorrow morning?” he asked, as if these were all just formalities he had mentioned.
“Sure,” I agreed, knowing that I was sunk. They were going to run a background check. They would pick up my conviction and the six months I had spent in jail and go running to this other applicant, whoever that was. I hung up the phone, feeling distinctly less excited than I had moments before.
“What was that?” Mom asked, stirring her batter.
“That was the cabin,” I said. “They decided to go with me, but they’re going to run a background check.”
Dad came into the kitchen, carrying his newspaper. “Morning, son. Are you working today?”
“I’m eleven to seven today,” I said.
“What’s this about a cabin?” Dad settled into a seat at the table.
“I finally saved up enough money to get a place of my own. I’m just worried because they’re running a background check.”
“It was a nonviolent offense,” Dad said.
“Don’t encourage him,” Mom snapped.
“Why not?” Dad smiled at me. “He’s been doing real good. He’s never tested positive for any drugs. He’s a reliable worker, and he’s saving his money. We should cut him some slack for once.”
“Thank you,” I said, surprised by the sudden support.
“Did you tell that girl about your past?” Mom changed the subject, unwilling to be persuaded.
“No.” I picked at the edge of the table with my thumbnail.
“It’s not fair to her if you don’t tell her. She should know what she’s getting into.” Mom poured the batter onto a hot pan.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick around for pancakes anymore. “I’ll tell her. I’m just not ready yet.”
“Tell him that he needs to bring the girl up to speed.” Mom pointed her spatula at Dad.
“Who’s this girl?” Dad asked.
“She’s new in town,” I answered dreamily. “She’s from Austin.”
“And what’s her name?”
“Tammy.”
“Tammy from Austin,” Dad repeated, as if committing the combination to memory.
Mom turned the stove off and stalked out of the kitchen. I looked over at Dad for clarity.
“She feels like she failed you,” Dad said.
“She didn’t fail me, and I didn’t fail her,” I grumbled. “I wish she would just get over it or try to be more understanding of how I feel.”
