The sound of the front door opening stirred me out of my nap and I sat up from the couch. As my mom stepped through the door, I greeted her, “Hey, Mom.”

“Hello, my boy! How was work?” she said, closing the door behind her.

“It was fine,” I lied, “It was work.”

My mom glanced at the TV, which wasn’t on, then back at me.

“I crashed as soon as I got home,” I said, "Didn't bother turning it on."

“Long day?”

I shrugged, "Not especially. I was just tired for most of it. My manager tried to make it longer on me though. She was asking me to stay three more hours and she was really persistent about it in the worst way possible."

"Is this the same manager that fired someone for having a panic attack?"

I sighed, "That's the one."

My mom frowned and shook her head, "Maybe you should think about trying to find another job?"

I moved a hand to my forehead, massaging it with my thumb and index finger, "It's fine Mom, I've already told you I don't want to. I don't work with her that often so it’s not like- I’m not around her that much. I can deal with it."

"You shouldn’t have to deal with her, Ben,” My mom replied, “She’s your manager and it’s on her to be responsible with that power.”

“But that’s just part of working a nine-to-five. You deal with petty people you don’t get along with. People who you don’t like and who don’t like you,” I shrugged.

“But you still have to go through her for your schedule, right? Wouldn't you rather have a boss who isn't putting you under all this stress? Someone who doesn't cause you to come home so frustrated and-"

"Mom, please." I interrupted, looking at her, "I love you, but every time we talk about this I come out of the conversation more irritated than when we started. I really appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself," I softened my tone, "I'm not your baby boy anymore."

My mom smiled warmly, "You're still my baby boy. You always will be. That being said: I'll leave it be." She gave a placating gesture, then walked over and rustled my hair. 

I retaliated by grabbing her wrists and pretended to bite her fingers off with an exaggerated “nom”.

She retreated, giggling, "Oh, someone's hungry!"

I chuckled, then pretended to be chewing, "Needs more salt," I said as I raised a finger to the air, making it sound as though my mouth was full. I mocked a swallow.

"Don't you get enough of that at work?" My mom laughed.

"There's no such thing as enough salt, mother," I replied with a smirk and playful roll of my eyes. I shook my head, crossing my arms.

My mom stuck out her tongue.

I retorted with the same gesture, adding a raspberry for good measure.

"What do you want for dinner?" my mom asked as she made her way to the kitchen, "And before you say anything, my fingers aren't on the menu!"

"Ugh, fine!" I pouted, still smirking.

"I know, I know. I'm so mean."

"The worst."

We both laughed.

"So what'll it be, my baby boy?" My mom asked.

"Uh… I'm actually not that hungry," I answered, stretching, "I ate before I left work."

That was mostly true, but to a small part of me something didn’t sit right. I was in my early twenties. Having my parents cook meals for me felt wrong. Of course, I was always grateful for them, but I couldn’t help but feel a little… Guilty? Inept? Selfish? Embarrassed?

Maybe some of that was that-for whatever reason-I had a difficult time accepting gestures of affection or kindness.

I didn’t know how to react. Didn't know how to show my gratitude. 

What was I supposed to do? A “thank you” had never felt like it was enough. How could one repay another's kindness in just a couple of words? What if it came off as insincere? What if someone expected an equally significant gesture that I wasn’t able to provide?

“If I make something now will you eat it later?” My mom called from the kitchen.

“You know I will, mom.” I replied, getting up from the couch.

“How does broccoli and steak sound?”

“Sounds great. Thanks,” I replied as I made my way to my room.

I awoke from my nap to the sound of a notification from my phone. Natalie had sent me a message.

I opened it and a grin began to grow on my face as I read.

you are not gonna fukin believe this. my manager got locked in the bathroom and nobody could find the keys! we looked around thje store for almost an hour before someone thought to call a locksmith. the locksmith comes and it takes him a solid on and a half hours toi get the door open bc the lock on it is so shitty. the best part is that we were gonig to get it replaced tomorrow.

it gets better.

my manager comes out and he looks like someone killed his cat or something. apparently he dropped his phone in the toilet while he was shitting and it just stopped working so the whole time he was stuck ing there he couldnt use his phone and it was covered in poop.

I was wheezing as I read the last few words, curled into a ball on my bed.

It took me several minutes to compose myself enough to begin typing a response.

🤣

STOP! That didn’t happen!

Natalie replied seconds later.

swear to god 🙌

I giggled, slapping my mattress a few times before responding.

Was this the Drew manager or the Tyler manager?

tylrer

*tyler

Oh no! 

He’s the good one, right? 😧

ye

i wish it wa s drew…

Poop Drew.

lol

that has a nice ring to it

I would be mortified… He’s gonna be bullied to hell.

ya probably. its ok tho. hes a big boy. there was trhis one time he gambled on a fart and lost and he had to drive home and get a change of underwear.

Oh my god! Poor Tyler can’t catch a break! 😂

dude you dont even know. hes fukin cursed. 

he takes it in stride tho.

That’s good. At least he has a sense of humor about it.

hes honestly the funniest person i work with. he even got miss hardass becka to crack a smile.

No kidding? He sounds like a fun dude.

working with him is a treat. i wanna invite him over but i dont know if i should.

Why not?

hes my manager. i don know. something about it just seems inappropriate.

Would you consider him a friend?

Natalie took a little longer than usual to reply-almost a full minute.

ya i guess so.

Then just invite him. Just because he’s your manager doesn’t mean you can’t hang out with him. It’s not illegal to have a good relationship with your superiors. Who knows, he might just need a friend after all the… *ahem*... shit he’s been through.

Another minute before a response.

lol

fuck ur so right. imma invite him over this weekend.

thanks ben. 😊

My heart swelled and a smile drew across my face. 

I wasn’t often thanked.

Not a problem! I’m glad I could help!

are you free to vc rn?

Yeah, just gimme a sec to hop on my computer.

k.

Before I could make it off my mattress I heard a soft knock on my door and a half-second later it opened.

My dad poked his head in and adjusted his glasses, “Oh, you’re awake. Mom said you had a rough day at work.”

“Not especially. It was just the usual manager bullshit. Nothing all that noteworthy,” I replied. 

I was a little annoyed that he hadn’t waited for me to invite him in before he opened my door, but I was still glad to see him.

My dad pursed his lips a fraction, “Alright. Well if you wanna talk about it you’ve got my ear.”

I smiled, “I know. Thanks Dad,” I said. I walked over and gave him a hug. The scent of steamed broccoli and seared steak found its way into my nose as it drifted from the hall and into my room.

“Ooh, that smells good,” I remarked as I released the hug.

“We were just about to eat at the table. Do you wanna join us?”

I scratched the back of my head, “Uh… I was actually just about to hop on a call with a friend. Plus I’m not really that hungry.”

“Alright, kiddo. Want me to bring you a plate a little later?”

I shook my head, “Nah it’s okay, but thanks for offering.”

“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Do I have a little bell I’m supposed to ring?” I joked.

My dad’s face went deadpan and in a deepened, lethargic voice said, “You rang?”

I giggled, then in my best transatlantic accent said, “Yes, Lurch. I would like a plate of spiders for dinner. Please fetch the black widows,” Dramatic hand gestures accompanied my words to complete the performance.

“Right away, Sir…”

We grinned at each other, then laughed.

“Alright, kiddo. I’ll let you get back to it,” my dad said, his voice returned to normal.

“You are dismissed.” I said, once again in dramatic fashion.

Face returning to deadpan, my dad turned and lumbered away. I smirked and closed the door.

I sat at my computer and put my headphones on as I clicked the call button. A few seconds later, Natalie answered.