I didn't see him, but I got up to start to get to the phone. "Don't," he said, "it's just a salesman."
For a millisecond there I wanted to ask why, but I didn't, because I really didn't want to hear the answer. But he gave me one anyway: "We're not buying anything anymore," he said.
I could guess that, but then he came with even graver news: "The Store will be closing in one, maybe two months."
My God. That's it? I'll be honest; I actually felt a little relief for the next day on that. The uncertainty, the chance that I'd just show up to The Store one day only to see the back door padlocked and the front door with a "For Sale" sign on it, weighed on me. I may not like that the day is coming, but if it is, I would like to know when. I kind of have a ballpark date now ... assuming My Father's right. And he's been wrong before.
But today I came to my senses -- Why am I happy about this? I told myself. I shouldn't be happy. I may be relieved, but I shouldn't be relieved, either. There is an end. And now I know the date, or at least an approximate one. And I will not be ready, no matter what.
---
This is weird. Mother asked me Tuesday night for help looking up her paychecks online. Signing her up wasn't as arduous as, for example, helping her pay mortgage payments for my parents' Vegas properties.
But while I was helping her through it she dropped a motherfucking bombshell, something I didn't even come close to asking for: "I'm going to quit."
WHAT???????!!!!!!!!!!!! Quit?!?!?! Why??? Who ... who's going to bring home the money now?
She says that even though the job brings in a lot of money -- and looking over her payments she does -- she says that Father wants her to quit. Funny; when Father broke the news about The Store Tuesday he said she wants to quit because she doesn't like the job. Well, which is it?
Well, the reason why she can is that they were indeed bought out. One of the stipulations was that Mother worked for them for six months. I was told by Father that Mother's managers like them a lot. But now that that six-month window has passed, she doesn't have to work for them anymore. And I guess she won't.
You know, when Father told me Tuesday about The Store's -- gulp -- end date, I had a dream where Mother would realize The End is near and think that, at the end of the day, she does not want to work for another person. As tough as it is, being your own boss was the one thing that mattered most to her. That's what I admired most about my parents, and so I thought that she'd just tell Father, "Screw this, I don't like working for another person, we're bring back The Store!" And My Father would be, "What the fuck are you talking about???" and they'd argue, but at the end Mother would run The Store and hire back the two people they let go. Father could retire and do whatever the hell he wanted, but Mother would stay and work. And I'd hold her and cry because I knew, deep down, she needed to be independent.
Instead, for some goddamn reason, tonight I'm supposed to type out her resignation letter. I don't know why. I don't want to do it. Maybe if I don't do it, she'll continue to work. I mean, if no one is working, where is the money going to come from?
We're going to be out on the street.
I'm really scared now.
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