Some of the questions were ones Sheldon had asked me before, leaning on a shelf in the warehouse with a mouthful of sunflower seeds.
This time, I knew why he was asking.
“One more question,” she said. “Why do you want this job?”
“Because my mom’s been carrying everything by herself for nine years,” I said. “And I want to carry some of it. And because I’ve figured out that I’m good at this. At fixing things. At helping people figure stuff out. And I didn’t know that about myself until somebody made me find out.”
“Even if he did it in a really weird way,” I added.
I was at the laundromat on Fourth Street with Mom. We’d gone together that week because her back was hurting and she couldn’t carry the bags herself. We were sitting in the hard plastic chairs watching our clothes spin around.
