“The hiring manager called me on Tuesday afternoon,” Ethan said, sounding hesitant as he cleared his throat.

“The day before the fight in the driveway.

It’s twenty-two dollars an hour, starting Monday morning.”

My thumb traced the edge of my watch strap.

He had kept that phone call in his pocket for three days while his mother complained about formula costing twenty-four dollars a can.

“Why did you keep that call to yourself?” I asked.

“I was waiting for the written confirmation email,” Ethan said.

He ran his thumb across his key ring.