At twenty-seven, YouTube sensation Ben Leonards is married to his work. If he's not whipping up lasagna with a side of science experiments, he's running statistical analysis of bitcoin during explosive behavior periods.
When a friend asks him to org...
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The resolution on the built-in cameras of the new phone I bought this week is better than it was on the digital camera Dad let me use in high-school. I switch to the lens facing away from me and do a panoramic sweep of my office—the first private space to call my own in Chicago. The next thing is finding an apartment.
"Oh, look at all that. The shelves behind your desk will have to stay empty for a while," says Mom. She puts her face so close to her camera that I can see the tiny screws on her glasses. "The shared container worked well, even though half of your stuff was books. That's leaving from Le Havre and going to arrive to Chicago in six weeks. I emailed you the details on how to pick it up. And we mailed the package with the urgent stuff via fast mail. That's arriving by the end of the week."
"Thanks, I have the tracking number. I'm glad I don't have to spend the money on new bike gear."
"I still think you should get a car instead of borrowing Mike's old bike. We can loan you the money."
"Mom, we talked about it. I'll save a lot, and it'll cut my commute time."
"And what will you do in winter?"
"By then, I should have enough money saved to buy a car. That's why Mike's bike is a perfect temporary solution."
"You only rode a bike in France. Will your license even work in the US?"
"Thanks for the reminder. I need to get my driver's license. Hold on."
I push the menu button on the phone and move away from Mom's video to open my note app. Number fifteen: schedule an appointment at the DMV.
"Back with you. So you like my office? No view, but how cool is this? I'm an actual professor now."
"Your dad would've been proud. Have you been by his old office yet?"
"No. Maybe when I feel a bit more settled and am less likely to cry when I go by? It's like this place has a hold on D'Amicos and demands our lives to be a sacrifice to its altar."
"You're funny. But seriously, I wouldn't delay if I were you. It can be a healing experience. Speaking of that—have you found a therapist there? You know you can talk to me about anything, but then I know you too. A therapist might bring you the support you need. It's so much change and so many reminders of your dad—"
"You're probably right. Hold on." Number sixteen: find a therapist. Number seventeen: find a general practitioner. Number eighteen: find a dentist.
"There's no hiding the fact I'm an adult now, is there?" I ask.
Mom laughs, and the red wine in her glass slushes a little bit too hard. Her face is one giant grin on the bottom and the stylish owl glasses on top. Simple yet fashionable has been Mom's style, but the time she spent teaching me how to look more polished might've gone to waste. My scrunched up face in the small rectangle looks tired and gaunt without makeup.
