3.

About a month after my girlfriend left me, her best friend Rachel came a knocking at my door. I put on some pants and a shirt and opened the door only as far as the chain lock would allow. "May I help you," I asked, nearly blinded by the morning sun.

Although I could barely see, I could see that her face had made a disgusted look at my behavior. "You're supposed to call your parents, Paul," she said.

"What is this, Rachel," I asked skeptically.

"Look, Nicole still hates your guts, but your parents have been calling her constantly for the past day and a half looking for you."

I held a doubtful face while I tried to grasp exactly what was going on, and once I figured it out I very awkwardly said, "thanks," before closing the door.

My parents were trying to get a hold of me? What did that mean? I shuffled back inside and found my shoes. Not having anything else to do, I laid down the notebook I had been staring at fruitlessly and went out.

I kept my eyes on the ground as I made my way to the payphone by the corner store. I had the feeling that if my parents were calling, some further badness was coming my way, and I had trouble escaping my thoughts on it.

"Hello," my mom's soft voice came through the receiver.

"Mom, it's Paul."

"Paul!" she exclaimed, still managing to speak quietly. Except for a few countable moments, she always spoke quietly. "We've been trying to get a hold of you for the past day and a half, but we couldn't get through."

"Yeah..." I stalled briefly, only to think up a terrible excuse, "I've been having phone trouble, Mom."

"I had to call Nicole," she said and paused. "Grandpa Chuck died."

Ah, Grandpa Chuck. He was a terrible old man, but not to me. Maybe it was because we mutually understood that every other member of the family was completely insane. Truth be told, Grandpa Chuck was the only member of my family I could stand to be around anymore. Great, just great. "Aw, that's awful, Mom. I'm sorry I took so long to get back to you."

"Well, the funeral's going to be held this Monday, and we thought you could come stay the weekend with us. Ronnie's back, and it will be so nice having everyone back together." I nodded and murmured agreement. What a terrible situation to be in, but what was I supposed to do?

"Actually," my mother said, "Ronnie's here and wants to talk." I said all right.

"Paul, how's it going?" he asked. Ronnie, my older brother by five years, had become an expert in finance and his paycheck reflected it.

"You know, it's going pretty well," I lied. "I just finished a lot of the outline for my new writing project. Running it past the agent right now."

"Paul, you don't have to lie to me," he said. "Listen, I know you've fallen on some hard times, so I got you plane tickets, I actually e-mailed them to you. Just make sure you have the print out and some ID. If something comes up, just call me."

"I don't need your help, Ronnie," I said. The feeling of embarrassment and shame was beginning to set in, now.

"All right," he said, "Then pay me back when you get here." I felt awkward saying OK even though we both knew that I wasn't going to pay him back. The only person who could make me feel worse was...

"Dad wants to say hi," said Ronnie.

"Hey there, kiddo," Dad's familiar voice rang over the phone. "I was at the bookstore the other day. I didn't see any of your stuff on the best-seller shelves. What's up?"

"My publisher is looking over my manuscript, I..." I began defensively.

"Running into some hard times now, eh? I told you you should have just gone into accounting like your brother."

In the background, I heard my brother's voice protest, "That's not what I do, Dad." Dad had always held a strange contempt for my brother's profession, although he respected the amount of money he earned. "Well, Grandpa's send off is in three days. Your money's probably pretty tight, let me buy you a bus ticket down here."

"Uh, thanks Dad, but Ronnie already set me up," I said. I added, "And I'm paying him back when I get there."

"Sure you are, son," he said.

"And my money is fine," I lied again. Lying is surely the greatest social defense mechanism, but sadly, I was bad at it.

My dad laughed, "Well all right Daddy Warbucks, then I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

My brother corrected him in the background, "It's Sunday, Dad."

"Sunday, that is," my dad repeated to me.

"Ok," I said, unknowing of what to say next.

"Be there or be square," he concluded and promptly hung up.

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