Chapter Four
Jobless

Mom returned home in despair. I thought I had done something great for her life and well being, but I can tell she has been crying on the car ride home. Her nose is red and eyeliner drips down her cheeks. Now she lies on the couch, whispering over and over “What have you done, Cynthia Benson?”
When she returned home, I asked her how it went. By it, I mean quitting her job. All she did was shake her head heavily and fling her purse on the entry-way floor. I knew something was wrong.
I am on the sun-seat in the dining room, watching the rain fall onto the window. “Hey, sis. What’s wrong with Mom?” asks Angelo. “Uhm-uh,” I moan, keeping my focus straight ahead.
“Kira, tell me what happened. Why did Mom leave today?” Angelo says. He sits down next to me and turns my head to face him.
I sigh heavily. “I convinced her to quit the paper so she can become a novelist.”
“You did what?” Angelo fusses.
“Angelo, she was so sad, you saw her! She wanted to write what she wanted to write, so just,” I say defensively. Everything will be fine. Mom will be a successful novelist. We will be fine.
“Kira, do you know-”
“Kids! Stop. Family meeting, living room. Now,” Mom says, wiping away the eyeliner that stains her face.

It is tense in the living room. Angelo and I take our seats on the big leather couch and Mom sits on the love seat facing across from us.
“Okay. Obviously, Kira has told you that I went and quit the paper. I regret this. Although I do want to be a novelist, I should have been wiser and kept my job while I wrote my novel,” Mom says. Her voice shakes once, but mostly she stays calm.
“Mom, you know you couldn’t write a novel in your old job! You were too busy and-” I say.
“Kira, calm down. I’m going to find another job tomorrow. I’ll send in some applications, and we’ll see what happens, alright?” Mom assures me.
I nod, close to tears.
Mom smiles grimly. “I called Robert about an hour after I quit. He won’t give me my job back,” she says. Her eyes are beginning to get watery.
Angelo, who has been silent, reaches out and starts rubbing Mom’s back.
Couldn’t Angelo get a job? No, he’s only fifteen. It wouldn’t be legal.
I let my face fall to my hands. Our father left us when I was born. Mom will get a job, I think.
And I gently begin to cry.