Page 103 of Error Handling
“Tell me more about this bulldog.” Sam leans over and rests his elbows on the island.
I refocus on my brother. “His name is Eros. He’s very overweight. And he’s Rosita’s emotional support animal. She has panic disorder, and he helps her calm down.”
“Who would name their dog after the Greek god of love and sex?”
“Who names his dog after a mythical good-luck figure?” Mom replies.
“Billiken is a good name,” Sam says, referring to his six-year-old puggle.
“I second that,” I say.
“Mom loves Billi, she just won’t admit it.”
“I’ll admit he’s cute. But he smells.”
“I was thinking of strapping one of those N95 masks to his behind,” Sam says.
“He needs it.” Mom finishes mixing and then pulls another baking sheet from the drawer beneath the stove. “Oh, Chris, now that you’re here, your dad still has a stack of bills on his desk in his office. Can you look through those and figure out which need paid and which we can hold off on?”
Sam furrows his brow at Mom. “Mom, I’ve been here for three days, why didn’t you ask me to do it?”
“Because you’re busy.”
“I’ve been sitting in this chair all day every day except when Dad needs something.” He points at the La-Z-Boy.
“I mean, your work, and—Never mind. Just—Chris, if you could do it, it would take a load off your dad’s shoulders.”
I make every effort not to let my annoyance show on my face, but some must peek through because Sam gives me a knowing look.
The woman is a magician. Somehow, she manages to bend every opportunity in her favor. Not that she caused my father to fall, or to have heart failure, but she’s like a politician: never let a disaster go to waste. She wants me to pay those bills, and somehow through her sorcery, she’s about to make it happen.
My mother isn’t a witch. She’s a Christian. But she does have a knack.
“I’ll do it,” my brother says. “Chris just got here. Chris, sit down and relax. I’ll worry about it.”
“Chris needs to become acquainted with our vendors.”
“I do?” I don’t try to hide my annoyance. Man, I wish I could have bet someone that thousand bucks.
My mother pushes her gray, wiry bangs to the side. “Someone does. Your father and I obviously aren’t going to be able to do it forever.”
“Then you need to hire an office manager, Mom,” Sam says. “Haven’t I been saying that for the last five years? You need to write a will and decide what you’re going to do with your assets.”
“We have a will, Sam.” My mom narrows her eyes at her oldest son.
“It better not say that you’re leaving Chris the business, because he’s already told you he doesn’t want it.”
She supports her lower back with her hand. “Why don’t you let Chris speak for himself?”
“I don’t want it,” I say.
“You don’t need to decide now.” She flutters her hands in the air. Her dirty dishtowel flops back and forth.
“He already decided, Mom,” Sam presses, his tone becoming harsher.
“It’s okay.” I wave my brother off.
Sam stands and takes a deep breath. “I’m going for a drive.” He turns on his heel and leaves through the front door.