The pizza was a nice gesture.

It was cold, but they have a microwave.

However, it would be presumptuous to use it before they left.

So I muscled down the first with sour sauce and rubbery cheese.

I swallowed it like those September school days you want to pass by without tasting.

They showed me their sodas with misplaced anxiety.

I could read between the worried lines of her forehead that she wanted me happy tonight.

La Croix and Diet Soda.

I sip my glass of lukewarm water.

I remember their teeth gleamed like freshly waxed cars as they sealed the deal,

overeager to convince a bored teenager with broken earbuds to let them give her money.

But I smiled back so brightly that the skin around my eyes creased like furrows in the dirt.

I stood with my hands clasped

and my back straight

and eyes laser-focused as if this were an audition for the spring musical, and they’d cut me out for the slightest lapse in composure.

I waved, trying to look responsible, and my heart clicked a little with the front door.

I accepted each word their son offered me as if it were the $10 I would receive per hour.

His giggles were cute on their own, without being imagined as jangling coins slipping into my purse.

I focused on making him laugh more with a bit of guilt.

I washed his pear slices off in the sink,

letting the water wash away the sticky residue

along with any imperceptible dirt

and I closed his door at 9:00 and the house fell silent as a grave

and soon I’ll have $40.