“You’re going to be fine…it’s probably just about your paperwork.” My Mom’s gaze is focused on the road but I can feel her certainty. “Or maybe they called you in to tell you how amazing you are.” My Aunt’s eyes smile at me through the rear-view mirror.
A white, glossy box. My house is the picture of too clean sterility. The sheets blisteringly brilliant and the floors bleached purity. With cloudy sea-glass doors and windows; illuminated prettily with cold, LED spotlights. The house peers at me condescendingly, waiting for me to stain it; maybe I already had. My life already a nasty mark on the too perfect interior. I take forty-one steps exactly to reach the engulfing mouth of the front entryway.