Luca hummed along with the mournful pop song about missing a loved one, maneuvering his character through the World of Finalcraft Scrolls.
A message from his in-game best friend popped onto his screen in bright purple font: [
He couldn’t help but smile. He and ThatSweetD, aka D, were the only two in their guild who used formal language. Unlike the others, too, D was easy to talk to in ways other people weren’t
Luca typed back: [
[That probably sounds cold. I want to hang out with them, but bars are always iffy.]
D’s response was almost immediate: [’ll be awake for a while, I’m sure. Try me when you get home. If I’m not in-game, message me on Disco. Unless, of course, you’re too drunk.]
Luca winced as he heard the thud from downstairs, followed by his father’s slurred shouting. “Lucas! ‘Ey, get down here!” Speaking of too drunk…
He quickly said his goodbye to D, and tried to exit out of the game. His character froze. The “Not Responding” notification appeared above, along with a notice that some program or other had performed some action it shouldn’t have. He sighed and opened task manager, force quitting the game before he was able to shut down his computer.
He’d pulled his purple waves into a high tail and clipped long bangs from his wide blue eyes. His clothing was freshly laundered and ironed. Before going downstairs, he gave himself a wink in his mirror, against the backdrop of peeling paint and old photographs.
His loafers took the stairs two at a time. The carpet in the half a double he and his father rented might have once been a light peach, but it was a mottling of colors long before they’d moved in.
Tony, his father, stood beneath the fluorescent lights of the kitchen, one hand resting on the counter Luca had cleaned earlier, a Local Lite at his elbow. “Goin’ out tonight?” He looked his son over with a frown, then turned away with a sigh.
“With Nick and Ryan,” Luca said, opening the polystyrene foam containers containing kielbasa. He raised his brow at the receipt his father had left on top. They couldn’t afford to be getting takeout so much, not with their debt. He’d tried cooking, but Tony loved his greasy foods.
“Grab a plate and dig in,” Tony said, sliding out a chair. “Was hopin’ you were gonna tell me you were going with some girl.”
“I hardly have time to date,” Luca said, forcing a chuckle. His easygoing personality made him a shoo-in for retail and restaurant jobs, and he currently had one of each. One paid minimum wage, and the other paid in tips.
“You work hard, and any good broad is gonna understand that and wait for ya.” Tony crammed a forkful of kielbasa in his mouth. “Surprised you’re not working tonight. Friday nights are good tips.”
Luca suppressed his annoyance that he could be doing something he loved if not for the insurmountable debt. Student loans were even an unattainable luxury, considering Tony had ran up debt in both his own name and his son’s. “Nick pleaded with me to take a night off, and then said he’d drag me out of Wing-It if I didn’t.”
“Oh, got some potato pancakes from the Catholic bazaar,” Tony said, pronouncing Catholic like “cat-lick.” He gestured to the brown paper bag, oozing with grease, thoughtfully set on the arm of the old green couch. What would a few more stains matter? Good luck to the furniture place if they ever wanted to repossess it. Renting furniture and paying four times what it was worth over a long period of time had been Tony’s idea, too.
“Thank you for thinking of me,” Luca said, retrieving the bag. He set it beside the kielbasa in the center of the round fiberboard table.
“Oh, wanted to tell you, because I was thinking about you when I was at the club. I talked to Eddie.” Tony washed his food down with a swallow of beer, a few trails running down his chin and onto his Public Works Department button-down. “He said he might have a job for ya. Know you’re short on time already, but… Well, son, we’re working men. Come from a line of working men.”
Didn’t Luca know it? Men who’d toiled for low pay ever since the coal mines. “As soon as I interview, I’ll have to let my other jobs know the schedule.” The garbage truck would pay well, probably better than Luca was making even at Wing-It on weekend nights where people shelled out tips.
Eddie – one of the many well-known Eddies in the area – was Tony’s coworker and drinking buddy.
“You’ll be working same as me, getting there for 6 AM,” Tony said. “We can even ride to work together.”
How was Luca going to work until midnight at All Mart and be on the garbage truck at that hour? He had so little time to dream as it were. At least he was fortunate enough to worry about such things. Maybe it was a blessing, as too many dreams had been nightmares since Don had died. And Don was probably the one who’d had the brightest future, excelled in academics, followed the rules. He’d wanted to be a doctor, one of the few realistic professions that weren’t retail or food in a place like this.
“So proud of you, Lucas.” Tony reached across the table to pat Luca’s shoulder. Why couldn’t the man call his son by his actual name? “Lucky to have a son who knows what’s important. You’re on your way to a good life. If you’re good with getting the garbage bags, you can always get your CDL and drive trucks. But, when you go to work, can you just cut your hair and let it be its natural color?”
“I’ll think about it.” He absolutely wouldn’t. He’d kept his hair this way since high school; he liked it well enough. If he had to, he’d do his best to tuck it under a cap.
Luca helped himself to a potato pancake. Wickedly good. He couldn’t complain about the food in Anthracite City, save that eating it required he devote more time to working out, just to avoid a heart attack by thirty. Although hauling garbage would probably provide plenty of exercise.
Maybe he was being too harsh on his father, who meant well. Tony thought he was doing something good by bringing his son home takeout. He’d spent the last decades of his life on a garbage truck, and when Jennifer died of cancer, he’d buried his heartache and money in the coin slots of the local casino. After his wife’s death when Luca was a small child, losing his daughter was too much.
He knew what Tony meant by a good life – a good life for Anthracite City; having a few scant hours with friends, returning to a home only two feet away from the house next door.
He couldn’t help but be a little jealous of D, who seemed to have so much leisure time in spite of running some sort of company. And he’d even heard servants in the background when they were on Disco calls, cultured voices asking if he needed a refill of his merlot, or bringing in polished shoes.
Luca’s phone chimed with a text message, signaling his escape. “That’s Nick. I’ve got to meet them.”
“Where you going tonight?” Tony asked. “One of the nightclubs, Lucas?”
“Just the VFW,” Luca said with a chuckle. His father kept hoping he’d find a girlfriend.
“Go have fun with the guys. I’m gonna watch the game. And be safe out there.” Tony cracked a grin. “They’re good boys.” And they were. The two taller boys had always kept Luca safe through junior high, high school, and continued their duties whenever the situation at a bar might call for it. Usually such situations did not arise at the mostly-empty VFW.
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