Chapter 2
The braised pork ribs were burnt to a crisp, black as charcoal, and still oozing blood.
The scrambled eggs with onions were speckled with tiny bits of eggshell.
Mom looked at the two dishes and let out a long, deep breath.
"What is this?" Mom asked, pointing at the ribs.
"Charcoal-grilled special ribs," Roderick muttered, his voice trailing off.
Mom didn't say a word. She picked up a piece of the rib and took a bite.
She spat it out right into a tissue.
"Deduct 15 dollars," Mom said flatly.
"What?" Roderick blurted out.
He froze, rubbing the burn on the back of his hand.
"Your salary is 700 dollars. Mess up a meal, and I deduct 15 dollars. So now you're down to 685 dollars," Mom said, her tone icy.
Mom pulled out her phone and started ordering takeout.
"Jenna, come over and have some cookies to tide you over. Don't eat that mess," Mom called out.
Roderick stood alone on the other side of the table, watching us eat cookies.
"I'm starving too," Roderick said.
Right on cue, his stomach growled.
"Employee meals are in the fridge. There are two pieces of bread left from yesterday," Mom said coldly.
She didn't bother to look up.
"I don't feed freeloaders, and I sure as hell don't keep dead weight," she snapped.
That night, I saw Roderick sitting on a tiny stool in the kitchen.
He was all hunched up, gnawing on a cold piece of bread with plain water.
He stared at the bread like it was his dead enemy.
I quietly fished a piece of candy out of my pocket and slipped it into his hand.
Roderick stared at the candy in his palm. His eyes grew misty.
"I don't eat sweets," he muttered, voice raspy.
"Just eat it. Maybe things won't feel so bitter," I whispered.
He unwrapped the candy and shoved it into his mouth.
One tear dropped right onto the bread he was holding.
While chewing the candy, he stuffed the bread with his tear on it into his mouth.
Early the next morning, Mom wrote out a shopping list and slapped it onto the fridge.
"Here's 30 dollars for groceries," she said.
Roderick stared at the list, his brows knitted together.
"What can one get for thirty dollars?" he muttered.
"That's grocery money for two days for all of us," Mom said.
She slapped thirty dollars in cash and a few reusable bags down on the table.
I volunteered to go with him, mostly to keep an eye on him.
Roderick was dressed in a wrinkled suit, clutching a red bag with a big lucky symbol on it.
He stuck out like a sore thumb.
When we got to the supermarket, Roderick made a beeline for the imported foods section.
He picked up a box of cherries, and when he checked the price, it was 100 dollars.
He set it back down without a word.
He then grabbed a bottle of premium bottled water that cost eight dollars.
"Jenna, let's get this water. I'm really not used to the water at home," he said.
He was trying to talk me into it.
"If we buy the water, we won't have enough left for meat," I said.
I pointed over at the clearance section in the distance.
"Mom said we should only buy the yellow-tagged items. Those are about to expire, so they're cheaper," I explained.
Roderick grimaced, but I hauled him straight to the fresh food section.
The place was packed with people.
"Pork belly is on sale, four dollars a pound!" the salesperson shouted.
A group of folks swarmed forward.
Roderick got tossed around, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
"Dad, hurry up and snatch some. If you don't, all that'll be left is the fatty bits," I yelled.
My heart was pounding.
Roderick clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut, and dove headfirst into the crowd.
Five minutes later, he came stumbling out of the crowd.
His hair was a wild mess, and his shoes were filthy from being stepped on.
But he was holding a chunk of meat high above his head like a trophy.
"I got it. Jenna, look!" he called out, out of breath.
He actually looked thrilled.
An old lady nearby rolled her eyes at him.
"Young man, that's the rump. It was the oldest, toughest part. No matter how long you stew it, it'll still be tough as leather," she said.
Roderick's smile froze on his face.
When we finally checked out, the total came to 29.5 dollars.
Roderick stared at the few coins left in his hand, tossing them up and catching them absentmindedly.
"I've closed deals worth millions, and I've never been this nervous," he muttered.
On the way home, he was lugging the big red bag in one hand and holding my hand with the other.
As we passed a balloon vendor, my eyes lingered on the Peppa balloon.
Roderick stopped, fished around in his pockets, then looked at the coins he had left in his hand.
"Hey, how much for the balloon?" he asked the vendor.
"Three dollars," the vendor replied.
Roderick fell silent.
He crouched down, too embarrassed to meet my eyes.
"Jenna, I can't buy it right now," he said softly.
I saw how uneasy he looked and shook my head.
"I don't like Peppa. I like George," I said.
"How much for the George balloon?" Roderick asked.
"Same price, three dollars," the vendor replied.
Roderick's shoulders slumped in defeat.
Suddenly, he stood up and pressed the coins into the vendor's hand, almost begging.
"Just give me the cheapest one you've got. Even if it's almost out of air," he said.
The vendor pulled out a tiny green balloon, no bigger than my thumb and practically out of air.
Roderick tied that little green balloon to my wrist.
"Someday, I will buy you the biggest ones, enough to fill a whole room," he promised.