Shopping for a Billionaire 3(23)
Author: Julia Kent

Dad walks down the hall and joins us. He’s wearing a matching apron, khakis, and no shoes or socks. I think Dad is allergic to socks and shoes.

“Declan!” They shake hands enthusiastically. “Good to see you.” Mom hands Dad the bottle. 

“White!” she chirps.

“Thank you,” Dad says to Declan. “Want a beer?”

“What about the wine, Jason?” Mom screeches, scandalized.

Declan and Dad ignore her, like they planned it in advance. Dad shoots me a wink.

“Sure. Whatcha got?”

“You like stouts? I’ve got some microbrew from this little place in Framingham…” Declan walks away, following Dad, and just like that, he’s integrated into the household.

I stand in my own childhood home and look around the living room. Everyone’s congregated in the tiny kitchen and I overhear Amy telling Carol about running in the marathon. Mom and Dad could buy a five-thousand-square-foot mansion in Osterville with an enormous living room and everyone would still cram into the kitchen to talk and taste and hang out.

Declan breezed into the house, was told he needed to pee by a child, offered up a bottle of wine, and boom! Dad takes him to his Man Cave in the backyard like we’re married and have been together forever.

I’m sensing a trend here.

This might actually happen. Me and Declan.

Carol walks into the living room, rubbing vanilla-scented lotion on her hands. She stares at me for a second, eyebrows raised. “You okay?”

“Dad just took Declan to the Man Cave.”

“He’s being accepted into the tribe.”

“Is that good or bad?” I give her a helpless look and sink down onto the couch. The springs are shot, so I literally sink down, my feet flying off the floor. I bury my head in my hands.

Carol stands over me and finishes rubbing the lotion. “I think you’re afraid of success.”

“What? No. No, I’m not. I never had a problem with Dad taking Steve into the Land of Grunts and Farts.” Dad has a little hundred-square-foot shed that he winterized a while ago. It’s got a television, ancient lounge chairs Mom tried to throw away years ago, and all his old sci-fi paperbacks he’s been collecting since the 1960s, lined on homemade shelves. 

He illegally piped a wood stove in there, and has an old milk jug I suspect doubles as a toilet in a pinch. Sometimes he and Mom have fights so intense he sleeps out there. Just for one night, though. The Man Cave smells like male sweat, Old Spice, and onions. Seriously. There’s a minor methane crisis in there. Jeffrey says it smells like Grandpa.

“Dad only took him back there to be nice to you. He hated Steve.”

“I know.” Once Steve dumped me they allllll came out of the woodwork to tell me what an ass Steve was, and Dad led the charge. He was like pressure cooker. Once you popped the seal on the lid, more steam than you knew existed came pouring out.

Enough to burn if you weren’t careful.

“‘Pearls after swine’ was the exact phrase he used all the time,” she adds.

“He said that about you and Todd, too.”

“I know.”

“No, like, at your wedding. And when Jeffrey was born. And then Tyler, and—”

“Got it. Don’t need my nose rubbed in it.”

Silence hangs between us for a second. I look like a hybrid of Mom and Dad. Carol, though, looks most like Mom. Lighter blonde hair, blue eyes, a round face with dimples, and plump cheeks that make her look perennially cheerful, even when she’s not smiling. She’s the oldest, and life hasn’t been easy these past few years.

“Any luck with jobs?” I ask. She’s the one who got me into mystery shopping. Back when I was hired on full-time she had a great full-time job. Then Tyler began having huge behavioral problems, Todd dropped off the face of the earth, and she was laid off. Mom and Dad have helped. Carol mystery shops with the kids when she can, and she’s living on unemployment and some vague government assistance I don’t quite understand. She has a degree, and loads of determination, but not a lot of time or hope.

“I have an interview with a call center. Night shift. Mom says she and Dad can help with babysitting.” Defeat oozes in her voice.

“Minimum wage?”

“No, actually. More like a standard three-to-eleven shift. I’d have to rely on Mom and Dad too much. it’s not fair to them.”

“They love Jeffrey and Tyler,” I protest.

“I know. It’s just…you don’t have kids. You don’t understand.” Her eyes shift down and she looks like a very serious, contemplative version of our mother. The dissonance is hard to reconcile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mom look…reflective.

“No, you’re right. I don’t.” I do want kids someday. Watching Carol struggle the way she has definitely made me extend “someday” by a few years, though. Tyler and Jeffrey are the best kids ever (I’m biased), but they haven’t been easy to raise without help.

“And you’re dating a hot billionaire.”

I roll my eyes and she smirks. Ah. Now she looks like Mom again.

Hot Billionaire chooses that moment to walk in, overhearing Carol’s comment “You’re dating another guy named Hot Billionaire?” His easy touch as he wraps an arm around my waist just adds to her embarrassment. I remember when she brought Todd home, when I was thirteen, and I thought he was so hot. Jealousy poured through me then, as Todd would give her hugs and kisses and little love pats. That was love, I thought. Back then, before Todd turned out to be pond scum.

Declan’s not Todd.

Carol turns bright pink. It looks like she poured a bottle of Pepto-Bismol all over her face. “We thought you were in the Man Cave, grunting and eating roast meat off a stick,” she says.

“We were, until the little boys found us, and now your dad is playing horsey with them and he sent me in here for a rescue team.”

Carol laughs and takes the chance to escape. “I’ll rescue him!”

“Dinner’s soon! Declan, can you help set the table?” Mom comes out of the kitchen, her hair so thoroughly sprayed and set in stone by some chemical that will likely be proven in ten years to cause cancer, but by God keeps her hair in place even as she cooks.

“Sure.” He winks at me and walks toward Mom. “Where’s the dining room?”

Mom leads him through the kitchen into the formal dining room, the sanctuary of Good Food and the room we use exactly three times a year: Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. When not in use for a holiday, the dining table doubles as a storage facility for junk mail, LEGO toys Mom finds while vacuuming, and random light bulbs dad needs to remember to replace with LEDs but never does.