Chapter 4

"Max, honey, which building is your place in?"

I was instantly on guard. "Why, Mom?"

Her tone was breezy.

"Your dad and I already sold the house. We're right downstairs at your complex now, everything packed up. Hurry and send your wife down to help us up!"

I glanced out the window at the blazing sun and sighed.

"Didn't I already tell you? Julia has to work. I took care of the two of you for eight years. Isn't it Nathan's and Derek's turn now?"

She brushed it off.

"Sabrina's a germophobe, and Vanessa's place is too small. Your dad and I would rather live with you and Julia!"

"It's boiling out here. Just give us the building number and we'll come up ourselves!"

Cicadas droned through the phone.

Afraid they'd get heatstroke, I had no choice but to tell them the building number, and I put in for time off and rushed home.

I got home and pushed open the door.

The place was a disaster.

My dad sat on the couch smoking.

My mom was hollering at Nathan's and Derek's two kids, telling them not to jump on the couch with their shoes on.

But it was too late. My couch, the one I always babied, had grimy footprints stamped all over it.

The walls were scribbled up with colored markers.

Trash and snack bags were scattered everywhere on the floor.

When she saw me, my mom explained sheepishly.

"It's summer break, isn't it? Sabrina and Vanessa dropped the kids off with me to look after."

"Since we were moving, of course we had to bring them along!"

Just as she finished, my wife came home too.

My mom immediately started ordering her around.

"Julia, I bought chicken wings. Go fry up a couple plates for your two little nephews!"

"And your dad's stomach has been bothering him lately, so make him some pork and vegetable soup to settle it."

I looked at my wife, who'd only just stepped in, and reminded my mother.

"Mom, Julia's pregnant."

My mom paused for a second.

My dad, cigarette clamped in his mouth, slammed the table and shot to his feet.

"So what if she's pregnant?"

"Your mom was still out working the fields when she was pregnant. She can't do a little cooking? Thinks she's some pampered rich lady? Take a look at what her husband is!"

My mom pursed her lips too.

"Exactly!"

Then she sat down and pointed at the bathroom.

"You've been slacking off all this time. Your two nephews' clothes are still soaking in the basin. Once you're done cooking, remember to scrub them by hand."

"Your two sisters-in-law made a point of asking! They said the kids' clothes can't be washed with the adults'!"

"Okay..." my wife said, head down, her voice thick.

She was about to head into the kitchen when I grabbed her and stopped her.

She stared at me, dazed.

I didn't say a word. I turned and stormed into the bedroom.

I hauled out my parents' luggage and shoved them, along with the two nephews, out the door.

"My wife may not be some pampered rich lady, but she's not a maid anyone can boss around either!"

"You want pork and vegetable soup, simmer it yourself. Dirty clothes, wash them yourself!"

"Nobody here is missing an arm or a leg. Making my pregnant wife work herself to the bone waiting on your whole crew, have you got no shame?"

With that, I slammed the door shut.