When Mom comes home, I’m running the vacuum like Joey asked. Without taking off her coat, she wrests the Hoover handle from my hand and raises her voice over the whirr. “Let me take it from here, honey.”
“I can vacuum, Mom.” But she elbows me aside and goes over carpet I’ve already cleaned. The set of her mouth says I shouldn’t have bothered. Joey gives me a wry grin as he takes off his coat. “See?” I ask him. “Told you.”
So our mother won’t hear him over the sound of the vacuum, Joey mouths the word, “Pigsty.”
As if on cue, my mother calls out, “Good thing I came home today. This place is a pigsty.” When Joey and I laugh, she narrows her eyes. “What? You think it’s funny? Living in such filth.”
“I just cleaned—” I start.
“You straightened up,” Mom corrects, shoving the vacuum across
