Dots and Zeros [Completed]

5. Sam

'Thank you. Have a good evening.'

'You too, bye.'

I close the door after the pizza guy turns around. With the lukewarm pizza I go to the kitchen. I slide it onto a plate I found in one of the boxes. I grab a paper towel and move to the stairs.

I'm still not used to this house. Sure, it's been a few days, but still. Until now, there's been one house I truly felt comfortable in from the very first day. I walked through the front door and somehow, the empty shell that it was felt nice immediately.

This one doesn't. At least not yet. It's too big. It's only me and mom, what do we need a third bedroom for? Or a second full bathroom? Isn't it just more we have to keep clean? Well, she at least.

I place the plate on my desk and turn on my laptop. After I turn on music I look outside. The sun is right in front of me, shining in my eyes. It's blinding. Would it be too late to switch bedrooms? Maybe that's why we have three. Wait, no. The other room has a window on the same side of the house. It would be useless to change.

The pizza is almost cold at this point, but I take a bite. It's food. We don't have anything else anyway.

It's starting again. One night working late, means two will follow. And then more and more until she burns herself out, has to take a break, then gets fired for irresponsible behavior. Then a new city and another new beginning.

Every single time. Same story in every city. She's tried to explain it to me before. She doesn't like unfinished things, and so do others. If she doesn't finish what she started as soon as possible everyone will be disappointed. And then no one's happy.

People don't need to be happy, it's work we're talking about. I'd respond by asking her if she's ever been told those words. If she ever went home at the end of the day and someone asked her to stay because she isn't done yet.

She said no. But, and I quote, they might think that way.

I don't understand how someone can be such a people pleaser. To the point where she doesn't stay because of what they said, but because of what they might say if she left without finishing the project. Might.

And it doesn't matter what I might say.

Another cold pizza bite.

I'm so sick of it. She can't seem to work like a normal person. She's so impossible. There's no reasoning with her.

I stand up and walk downstairs to see if we have something other than water to drink. When I open the fridge I see I walked downstairs for nothing.

While I cross the living room to walk the stairs once more, a book on the coffee table catches my eye. That black notebook.

I can't remember when mom didn't have it. Somehow, it always shows up in the first week after we've moved houses. I don't know if it's the same every time, or if it's a series of notebooks she's kept over the years.