Marianne couldn’t get her adult son to leave his room. She stood before the oven with a tray of unbaked cookies, wondering if she might just eat them herself this time. Jake had converted an old couch into a gaming cockpit by taking it down to the skeleton and adding in bolsters and a backrest pillow. His life was governed by inertia. He had what he needed. A monthly check he deposited on his cell. McDonalds and snacks delivered. Marianne knew he was refueling when his bedroom door would bounce back against the wall and he would lope to the front door, his flipflops flapping like frightened fish at his heels. Then he’d grab the bag, slam the door in the face of the delivery driver and immediately shut his own door behind him. When Marianne poked her head inside, he didn’t notice. Engrossed in the prancing lights on the screen, Jake was trapped in the gravity of his jerry-rigged gaming chair. The friction between mother and son was only in Marianne’s head because Jake had forgotten he ever had a mother, thinking of her as the one who kept the world from intruding. If only Marianne could figure out the impetus to get Jake to move out. Cookies suddenly seemed ridiculous. She fingered the long match, imagining another use.
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