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care of myself. What do I even want to be when I grow up?
    “I’m tired, can we be excused?” Jeremy asks solemnly.
    “Me too,” Jeremiah adds.
    “You two aren’t hungry? I can make you something to eat.” I pick my head up, more alert.
    “We aren’t hungry,” they shrug. Their usual height and prowess is even more distinguished by their newly adopted seriousness. Their shoulders are slouched and pulled back, heads down, eyes blood-shot red. It pains my heart to see them like this, knowing they aren’t the cute toddlers running away from me after painting my room in my lipstick and eye shadow.
    “Okay. Well, I’ll go up and check on you later,” I say reassuringly, touching their cheeks.
    “Yup.” They wave goodbye to Vanessa and Charlie, and go up to their rooms. They look more gray than brown at this point. Their skin is losing its spark. I sigh, slumping my shoulders forward and banging my head on the table.
    Nessa slings her arm around me, “So what’s the plan chica ?” she asks.
    “Hell if I know.” I turn my head on the table to face her. I can feel the table etching into my cheek.
    “Job wise, I mean. I hope you know you have to buckle down and get one now.”
    I growl into the wood, “I know.”
    “I can lend you some money while you look for a job,” Charlie tells me from across the table.
    My hurt boils to the surface and before I know it, I’m yelling at him. “You don’t think I can do this! I can. I can get a job. It’s not like I’m a fucking failure, ya know! You both always treat me like I can’t do anything right.” I rush up to stand in front of the kitchen sink. I hang my head in shame, “Sorry. I just…I don’t need you two to bail me out all the time. I have to do this,” I insist.
    “Cris, we didn’t mean it like that.” Vanessa gets up from the table and walks over. She reaches over and grasps my hand.
    “I don’t want you stressing more than you need to,” Charlie says, softly walking towards us.
    “I appreciate you both looking out for me, but I have to do this,” I insist once again.
    They both nod in agreement and place their heads on my shoulders. We stand there looking out of the kitchen window.
    I remember one night Nessa and I snuck out of the house, and Dad locked every window in the house to teach us a lesson. We had to shimmy through the kitchen window. I still have a scar on my wrist when I snagged a crucifix on my way down: a mark to remember that night.
    To lighten the mood, I ask, “So boys have to eat more than grilled cheese right? Like can I just give them each a box of cereal and tell them to go to town.” I wiggle my eyebrows back and forth, “because, I should probably learn to cook.”
    “I can teach you a few things before I have to get back,” Vanessa jumps in. “We wouldn’t want you to burn the house down,” she laughs.
    “Har har. Obviously, I’m not using the stove. Far too much commitment,” I say, knowing very well it’s going to be the microwave from here on out. I’m replacing my best friends with an unanimated object, whoopee.
    Vanessa shows me nothing but recipes with chicken. Chicken tacos, chicken enchiladas, chicken this and that. God I feel my life becoming Chicken Soup for the Soul. I don’t even know if the boys like chicken enough to eat it every day. But there’s no turning back now. Alla chicken!
    Charlie is spending all his time upstairs playing video games—such a guy thing to do. Boys and their video games.
    “Do you think they are ever coming down?” I ask, trying to make out sounds from upstairs. I think I hear laughter, but I can’t be sure. Laughter is a good sign; it means I haven’t broken them yet.
    Vanessa shrugs in response. “It’s good for them. All that testosterone and what not. Besides,” she winks. “It’s good they get along so well, right?” she says, her voice giving of that sly kick at the end.
    I snort, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Hellooo!” She points