"So what, now we're going to live together?" Jamie takes another step towards me. "That's your idea of a good plan?"
Unwilling to back down, I poke a finger at his chest. "This is my family's house. Not yours. I have every right to be here."
"Newsfl...
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I yelp into the fridge at my mom's voice and slowly turn around, arms full of tupperware containers. Surprisingly, my dad is standing there too, hovering nervously over Mom's shoulder. That doesn't look good.
"Yes?" I try to look as dignified as anyone can with streaked mascara and six meals worth of leftovers tucked under her chin.
Mom, mercifully, doesn't comment on my disastrous appearance. "Can you sit, please? We'd like to talk to you."
With a mournful look at my noodles, I reluctantly put them back in the fridge and follow my parents to the kitchen table. They both sit at one end. I sit at the other. I feel, suddenly, like I'm at a hearing and my lawyer forgot to show.
"What is it?" I hear the quiver in my own voice. I don't think I can handle any more bad news today.
Mom takes Dad's hand and tells me, "Lissa, you know your father and I have always supported your decisions. We understand that you're young and figuring out your path in life."
"Uh-huh." I sense a 'but' coming.
"But..." She lets the word linger for a little. "You're twenty-four now."
I wince at this reminder that my childhood is over. "That hurts, Mom."
Dad speaks up, his English heavily accented with his native Italian. "You're twenty-four and you do the same thing as when you was sixteen. Except now, you go to work instead of school. It's no good."
My mouth drops open, and Mom is quick to rush in, "We're just afraid that you're missing out. You seem a little stuck, and we don't want you to look back on this time of your life and have regrets."
My stomach twists. Not this talk. The what-are-you-doing-with-your-life question is something I spend every waking minute trying to avoid, and I don't feel remotely ready for this conversation. "I'm not stuck. I'm happy."
"You think you're happy," Dad says kindly. "But you won't be happy when you're thirty-four and still live with your parents."
"Hey, have a little faith!" I smile at him, trying to lighten the mood. "I totally will. Papà, ti voglio bene."
"Anch'io ti voglio bene." He kisses his fingers and turns them towards me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But you need to live your life. This, it's no living. It's waiting."
Mom nods, and takes a deep breath like she's preparing herself. "Which is why we've decided it's time for you to move out."
"O-kaaay." I draw the word out, not sure where they're going with this. "So, what, you want me to find my own place this year?"
"Not this year. This month. This week, actually."
There it is. Shoe. Dropped. I push my chair back from the table. "How do I find an apartment in a week? I don't even know what's available, or what my budget is! And it's going to take me at least a week to pack."
