text: Josephine was preparing sandwiches for Rich and Lily. Although well into their twenties, Josephine still doted on her kids as if they were still in gradeschool. “I’m making sandwiches- do you want one?” asked Josephine as she darted from cabinet to cabinet in the kitchen. Although nothing was urgent, her actions carried a hummingbird’s sharpness as she stabbed at drawer handles with lighting fast, almost panicked movements. Rich was immersed in his phone, furiously typing a message... then tapping the *backspace* key as fast as he could. The rhythmic tapping of *backspace* was distinct from other typing; when hitting it, there was no variation in the tone of his thumb striking the screen. Oddly, he seemed to type faster when his thumbs traveled the full keyboard than when he hit the same key over and over again. Maybe it was the variety of sound that made it feel faster and fuller and more rewarding. “I need to leave soon”, he said. Lily threw a scornful glance at Rich. He always did this. Home from university for just two days and already sitting at the kitchen table as if he owned the place. Their mother did so much for him- how dare he just sit there without helping. “Of course, mom” said Lily. “Cut mine diagonally.” Josephine pulled the peanut butter from one cabinet, a can of tuna from another, and the can opener from the second drawer down. She scolded herself for her mistake, quickly putting the can of tuna back in the cabinet before anyone noticed. She arranged the other two items next to the cutting board. “Rich, your father needs your help over the next few weeks. I don’t think you said you have anywhere to be, so it’ll be nice if you can help him”. She pulled a slice of bread from the bag: moldy. She threw it away and grabbed the next piece: worse. She threw that piece away, too. She grabbed the next few slices and put them in the toaster without looking. “Jesus Christ, Richard” thought Lily, fuming at her brother’s condescending attitude. Here we was, being asked to help- and outright refusing- while she herself was never entrusted with that kind of burden. “Can you get the strawberry jam from the pantry for me?” her mother asked, to which Lily responded by glaring at Rich with renewed hatred. “You people are unbelievable” she seethed. Lily went to the fridge for some orange juice. Something smelled wrong. It was a little like burning but with a sweeter aroma. She poured a glass, replaced the carton, and sat at the table with Rich. He continued to recompose that text message- from the sound of it, about 60 characters long- before deleting it with another 60 muffled taps of *backspace*. He began writing it again. The cat waltzed into the kitchen, soon snapping dry food between its teeth. “Oh- there’s no more water in the cat’s bowl” remarked Josephine as she spread jam on the toasted bread, repeatedly moving the can opener to make space for bread, jars, plates, and knives. Lily clapped back “you always blame these things on me and I’m sick of it.” Josephine put the sandwiches on the table. Lily said “I told you I wasn’t hungry” though it was difficult to hear as her mouth tore a corner off the sandwich. God, how she loathed Rich and his preferential treatment. “It’s just so nice to have my babies back together” cooed Josephine as she loaded the dishwasher, making sure to give the can opener an extra rinse before putting it in.