PARKER
I’ve read the same job posting three times and still can’t tell you what the company even does.
My laptop’s open on the kitchen counter. The afternoon sunlight’s coming in at the wrong angle through the blinds, striping the laminate floor like bars. There’s a cold cup of coffee next to my elbow, half-drunk and bitter. And me? I’m still in a sweatshirt I stole from Phil when I was nineteen, hair in a messy bun, glasses sliding down my nose because I can’t be bothered with contacts today.
The twins are at school. I packed their lunches. Made sure Lyra’s backpack had her library book, even though she swears the librarian is out to get her. Kissed Levi’s forehead even though he squirmed and said he’s “too big” for that now. And then I came back here. To this silence. To this low, gri
