I woke up in my high school bedroom to the sound of a Latin Catholic mass booming through the thin bedroom walls. My dad was downstairs, watching it on tv. It was loud, because I think his hearing is going, but he’ll never admit it. He used to watch it occasionally, but my mom said he watches it all the time now. He goes to church in person three to five times a week these days, too, after his life has settled down from his forced early retirement and recovery from his emergency triple bypass surgery this summer.

I dreaded having to go downstairs, to drink coffee and force a conversation over those loud Gregorian chants. To pretend I’m not completely devastated by simply being there. So I just lay there for an hour, switching between the same three apps on my phone and thinking of the few people who don’t make me feel like a burning trash fire all the time.

That was when the first good news came in.

An email.

After working toward and winning a $15 minimum wage for the county, I’ve been invited to become one of the four lead organizers in the statewide initiative once the Maryland general assembly opens in January.

I was floored, proud, excited by how much I cared about the promotion, how much it would piss off my father.

He and I didn’t talk about that over coffee, though.

But we talked, and it was nice.

National Geographic called an hour later, right after I snuck back to my high school bedroom to blow smoke out the window, but just before I put the pipe to my lips, however.

The job interview lasted ten minutes. I equivocated on salary, and the woman told me to go higher, seeing how qualified I am. Then she told me I made it to the next phase of the interview before we hung up our phones. When I went to tell my dad, he was either jealous or cautious of being excited at only a prospect.

Regardless, his posture was one of withholding.

The trip was both confusing and clarifying. At times, it felt like I got my old best friends back. But they still blame me for everything. I had to act like I didn’t hear my mom comment in our final conversation about how politically correct I’ve become. “Your brother thinks so too!”

The closest they offer to reconciliation is to pretend it never happened and to excuse it as an episode of a more overworked and stressed time in my career. I’ll never change their beliefs, but I figured out I can navigate between them.

Before I left, I remembered I should tell my friend who told me she’d refer me for the position that I got the interview. In response, she sent me back one final epiphany.

“Oh, I forgot to let you know. My friend who works there left two months ago,” she wrote me. “Congrats, Tim, you got this interview all on your own!”

I built this all myself, and now, finally, I know it will carry me forward.