“Eat up, Zack. You’re far too lean for your age.”

“Mmff,” he replied through a mouthful of pasta.

“Have you been taking the vitamins I sent you? It’s almost flu season.”

“Mmff,” Zack said again.

“And make sure you start wearing sunscreen every day. If I see any more of those freckles pop up on you—”

He swallowed hastily and said, “They’re not freckles, Mom. They’re beauty marks. You know, because I’m beautiful. Besides, I’ve been covered in them since I was a kid.”

“Well, they could be cancerous for all you know. You should go to a doctor and have them checked out. You’re on our health insurance for a reason.”

Zack rolled his eyes. “You worry too much.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at your mother,” a stern voice interrupted.

At some point, Zack’s father had stopped talking to Uncle Robert and had started eavesdropping on them. Zack knew better than to comment on that, so instead he turned back to Mom and said, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She glowered at her husband. “Your father and I are concerned about you is all. Speaking of which, how’s the job hunt been going?”

Zack internally sighed. It begins.

Sam groaned in an exaggerated way. “I knew it wouldn’t last. We can’t make it through one Sunday dinner without talking about what a fuckup Zack is.”

“You watch your language when you’re at my table,” Mom scolded.

Zack cleared his throat. “Honestly, I haven’t been looking for a job. I’m pretty happy where I am.” He braced himself for impact.

“Where you are?” Dad asked incredulously.

“That’s weird, there’s some kind of echo in here,” Zack retorted. As satisfying as the words were to say, he wanted to bite his tongue. He was never going to convince his parents he was a viable adult if he kept mouthing off. He took a sip of wine and visualized swallowing all of the smart-ass comments he wanted to make.

“Yeah, I’m happy,” he repeated. “I make decent money, and I like my apartment. That’s a lot more than some people can say.”

“I don’t understand how anyone could be content being an uneducated laborer,” Dad said in the slow, calm tone Zack hated most. Dad had a knack for making his classism sound like he was merely stating facts, and it irritated Zack to no end.

Fortunately, his mom interceded. “Zack, dear, what your father means to say is that you have so much potential. You’re only young once, and if you don’t finish your schooling now, you never will. Why are you throwing these years away?”

“You know who will never judge me?” Zack asked in lieu of an answer. “Pasta. Pasta will never judge me.” He stabbed his fork into his spaghetti and took a big bite.

“You can’t hide behind jokes forever, Zack,” Mom said in a gentle way that did little to unburden her words. “Eventually, you will have to give us a straight answer. What steps are you taking to either go back to school or get yourself a respectable job?”