Someone Else by Rebecca Phillips Page B

golf equipment together for an afternoon on the course. He ignored his clubs for a few minutes to grill Michael about college, and he didn’t let up until he’d heard about each one of Michael’s classes. As a professor, my father was always interested in materials being taught at other universities. I hated to think about the interrogation when I started college. God forbid one of my future professors teach a poem or play that Dad had deemed “glorified tripe”.
    When my father left I took Michael down to the basement to show him the latest renovations. Not that there was much to see beyond dust and exposed wires and stacks of subflooring. But the walls were up, finally, and ready to be painted. The rest of the basement looked like a Home Depot had exploded.
    “When will it be done?” Michael asked, stepping into the roughed-in bathroom area.
    “By Christmas, supposedly, but I doubt it. I mean, look at this mess.”
    “This house is so old. I’m sure there must be structural problems.”
    “And electrical problems and plumbing problems…” I squinted at the bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. “Right now, instead of calling it the rec room, we’re calling it the wrecked room.”
    He smiled. “Fitting.”
    We surfaced from the basement and set off for Michael’s house. His mom had invited me over for dinner and I was anxious to see her and Michael’s twin sisters. I hadn’t seen them since September and I missed them. The feeling was mutual, I guess, because the moment Michael’s mom laid eyes on me, she folded me into a tight hug.
    “We’ve missed having you around,” she said when she finished squeezing me. “You should come over and visit, you know. Michael doesn’t need to be here.”
    “Wish I’d gotten a reception like this yesterday,” Michael said.
    His mom swatted his arm. “Oh stop.”
    During dinner, I caught Michael’s mom—or Cheryl, as she kept insisting I call her—up on what I’d been doing since August. I told her about school and work, the two main things that had dominated my life over the past six weeks.
    “Are you still at that same chicken place?” she asked, passing me the basket of rolls.
    “Chick N’ Burger,” I said. “Yes, unfortunately.”
    “They have the best onion rings,” Megan said. She was the twin who looked like her mom, small with dark hair and the same blue-gray eyes that most of the family shared. She was also more outgoing than her sister, Jennifer, who was tall like their dad and looked a lot older than her thirteen years. I couldn’t believe how much they’d both grown since the summer. Jennifer was taller than me now, and Megan had turned into a beauty.
    “You’re not happy there?” Cheryl asked me.
    I shrugged. “It’s a job.”
    “True, but I’m sure the pay isn’t all that great considering the amount of work involved.”
    She was right. I busted my ass for a wage that more often than not wasn’t even enough to keep gas in my car. “No one else would hire me,” I said. Michael smiled and bumped my knee under the table.
    “What about waitressing? At least you’d get tips that way. I was a waitress all through college and the tips alone were enough to keep me in gas and clothes.”
    “But that was the sixties, Mom,” Megan said, as if dinosaurs roamed the earth back then.
    “The seventies, actually, but thanks for reminding me how ancient I am.”
    “I applied at a bunch of restaurants,” I told her. “But no one called back.”
    “Their loss,” she said, and I felt all glowy inside. Michael’s mom tried her best to make up for her husband’s coldness by always being present and supportive for her kids, and occasionally it spilled over to include me.
    “What about Moretti’s?” Michael said. “He owes you one.”
    “Oh!” His mom beamed at him like he’d said something ingenious. “Why didn’t I think of that?” She turned to me. “David and I,” she said, glancing over at Michael’s father’s empty