Jess came home from her afternoon nail appointment— which was probably another spending leak, but Tiff needed the business—to the sound of voices, loud, angry male voices. Oh, no. She followed the noise to the kitchen, where Michael and their son stood nose to nose, faces red, neck muscles bulging. In spite of the age difference, they looked so much alike it was scary. Same hunky profiles, same lanky build, same stubborn set to the jaw.
“Hey, if you don't want me here I'm gone,” Mikey yelled.
“Fine. If you want to be a bum, go live like a bum,” Michael yelled back.
The anger in the room came at her heart like a knife. Michael and Mikey had had their father-son clashes, but never like this. They were a family; they worked through things. This was wrong and out of control, and she wanted to cry as much as they obviously wanted to fight.
Mikey marched toward the kitchen door but Jess blocked it. “What are you two doing?”
“I'm out of here,” Mikey announced, and pushed past her. Behind his angry bravado, she could see her son was close to tears.
She shot a punitive glare at her husband, and then chased after Mikey. He was already in the living room when she caught him by the arm. “Mikey, honey, this is no way to settle things.”
“I'm done, Mom. I've been trying, but he doesn't believe me.”
She wasn't sure she did either, which made her feel ashamed of herself. What kind of mother didn't believe her son? “He's just concerned.”
Mikey's eyes flashed. “Yeah, I can see that. So what if I haven't had any interviews? I've been on the Net looking every day.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “I don't see him going on any interviews.”
Now Michael was in the living room, too. Mikey stiffened at the sight of him, and Jess worried he would bolt. He and Michael hadn't fought like this since Mikey sneaked out with the car when he was fifteen. Even that war had ended quickly. Their son had always been a good kid. Okay, more interested in playing computer games than doing homework. Even in college he'd skated by the first couple of years. But he'd buckled down and finished and gotten a job, and everything had been going so well. Until he lost the job. And now he was poised to storm off in a rage and go live … good God, where would he live, in his car?
Michael came up to their son and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Son, I'm sorry I lost my temper with you.”
Mikey's jaw was tight and his lips clamped together. He managed a nod.
“I just need to know you're trying, that's all.”
“I am, Dad,” Mikey insisted, and his voice broke. “You can't blame me that there's nothing out there.”
Michael opened his mouth to speak. Many years of marriage had turned Jess psychic, and she knew whatever came out of that mouth would be a fresh salvo for a new battle. “You'll find some-thing,” she assured her son.
He frowned and nodded. “I gotta go.” He bent over and gave Jess a kiss on the cheek and then slipped out the front door.
Jess staggered over to the couch and fell on it. “Good God.” She frowned at Michael, who had taken the chair opposite her. “What did you say to him, anyway?”
Michael looked at her as if she'd accused him some unspeakable crime. “What did I say? How about asking what he did to make me mad?”
“All right. What did he do?”
“Well, he finally got up at eleven. Do you know what time he came in last night?”
“Do I need to know what time he came in last night? He's over eighteen, Michael.”
“He came in at two a.m., the same time he came in Wednesday and Thursday night.”
“How would you know that? We were asleep.”
“Well, I wasn't,” Michael said grumpily.
“What were you doing awake?”
Now Michael turned wary. “I couldn't sleep.”
Of course. “You were up worrying.” She frowned at him. “You keep saying not to worry and then you stay up all night and do just that. Then you explode at our son.”
“Our son is a man now,” Michael said, frowning right back. “He can't dodge the fact that he's unemployed anymore than I can. He needs to be really working at looking for a job. Now, how hard do you think he's working if he's out screwing around with his buddies all night and sleeping the day away?”
Michael's voice was going up in volume. “Why are you yelling at me?” Jess protested.
He fell back against the chair cushions and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I don't mean to yell. I don't want to yell at anybody, but Mike has got to get serious. We can't all be unemployed.”
“Hey, I'm not unemployed,” Jess protested. It wasn't much, but she was trying.
“You know what I mean, Jess. All I want is for him to try a little harder,” Michael continued. “Why does he have to take that so personally?”
Jess shrugged. “Because he's a man?” She came over and squeezed into the chair with Michael.
“That's exactly why I want him to set some goals,” Michael said sternly. “He needs to log in as much time looking for a job as he would working a job. Now, are you going to tell him that or am I?”
She could already envision another shouting match. “I'll take care of it,” she promised. Though how she had no idea. Hopefully, something would come to her. “But give me a little time.”
“Define a little time.”
“Longer than you want?” She slid a hand up his cheek and gave him a kiss.
He closed his eyes with a sigh.
“It'll work out,” she murmured. One way or another, she was going to make sure of it.
It took a couple of days of mulling for her to realize that her baby bird needed motivation. Michael was right. Mikey was having a hard time mastering the art of job hunting. Maybe that was because he'd gotten his first job so easily. Michael had had a friend in HR who'd pulled a couple of strings on Mikey's behalf. His job had practically fallen in his lap. Now he was sitting under the employment tree, wondering why he couldn't reach any plum position. Someone was going to have to teach him the importance of finding a ladder and climbing up to get what he wanted. Jess knew this called for something more important than firsthand experience and wisdom. It called for sneakiness and manipulation.
On Monday she came home from hopping around the mats in the overheated, smelly gym, to find her son raiding the fridge. “I could use a sandwich,” she said, dumping her purse on the kitchen counter.
He nodded, and went to work building her a super turkey sandwich with everything from green peppers to avocado.
“You put together a mean sandwich,” she said with a smile as he set the creation in front of her. “Maybe you're wasted in the corporate world. Maybe you should become a chef.”
He shook his head. “I think you have to go to school for that.”
“Maybe.” She took a bite. “Good stuff,” she managed around a mouthful of sandwich. She swallowed. “You know, I've been thinking.”
Mikey looked at her suspiciously.
He had the prettiest eyes. The boy could be a model; there was an idea. Except that kind of work was about as steady as being a musician. “I think right now you are having a crisis.”
“Well, duh, Mom.” He frowned and poured himself a glass of milk.
“I'll take one, too,” said Jess, and he took another glass from the cupboard. “But, lucky for you, I have a solution to your crisis.”
“You found me a job?” He pushed the glass her direction.
“Don't be sarcastic. And yes, I've found you an interim job.” She grabbed a piece of paper from her little pile of scratch paper and started making a list.
“No shit? Where?”
“Here,” she said brightly.
“Here?” He looked at her like she'd suffered a brain mal-function.
“It's the pits having nothing to do,” Jess continued, unfazed. “You feel like you have no purpose. So, until you find something, you'll be working for me, Mommy Dearest.”
He didn't look at all thrilled with his new boss. “Doing what?”
She shoved the paper at him. “All kinds of things. Most people like a job with variety, so I'm going to make sure we vary your job description from week to week.
He picked up the paper and looked at it. “Clean garage.”
“Dad really doesn't have time. It's a mess.”
“Weed flower beds?” He looked slightly sick.
“I'm working. I don't have the time.”
“Paint house?” Now he was staring at her in shock.
“Well, you know we didn't get it done last year and paint doesn't last forever.”
“Mom, you expect me to do all this in one week?”
She took the list from his suddenly limp hand and examined it. “Okay, you can do the garage next week. That will work better anyway. After you clean the garage you can do a dump run. Oh, and I'll need you to take some things to the Goodwill for me.”
“How much am I getting paid for all this?”
“Paid?” She looked at him as if he had just spoken to her in a foreign language.
His eyebrows shot up clear to his hairline. “I'm not getting paid?”
“Of course you are.”
He looked relieved.
“You're getting free rent and all the food you can eat.”
He frowned. “Funny, Mom.”
“Mikey, I'm not being funny,” she said, letting her smile slip away. “I'm being serious. I understand that you're looking for a job, but until you find one this will be a good way for you to feel good about yourself and help us out, too. We could have some tough times ahead of us. It's important that we pull together as a family. Since you're not working for someone else, you may as well work for me.”
“But you don't pay,” Mikey protested.
“Correction. I don't pay what you want. But what I pay beats getting nothing and sleeping in your car. Until you find something, I'm the best game in town.” If that didn't motivate him to turn over every rock for a new game, nothing would. She downed her milk and picked up the plate with her sandwich. “This sandwich is really good. I think I'll have you cook some meals for me, too.”
“I don't like to cook,” he protested.
“Me, either,” she said, and left her baby bird standing at the counter gaping in shock.