I thought my parents had completely lost their minds when they showed up at my college dorm looking like they had just walked off the street.
My dad was wearing ripped jeans, a faded T-shirt with a dark stain near the hem, and an old brown jacket I hadn’t seen him wear in years.
My mom looked even worse.
Her hair was messy. Her sweatshirt had holes around the cuffs. There was dirt smeared across one side of her face.
And half of my belongings weren’t even packed in boxes.
They were stuffed into black garbage bags.
Actual garbage bags.
I wanted the parking lot to swallow me whole.
“Dad… what are you wearing?”
He looked down at himself as though he’d only just noticed.
“Clothes.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like this is normal.”
He gave me an innocent look.
My mother simply shrugged.
“Long morning.”
That made no sense.
I looked around the parking lot, trying to understand how the people I knew as my perfectly normal, financially comfortable parents had suddenly decided to arrive at my freshman-year move-in looking like they had spent the night under a bridge.
Then I noticed something else.
“Where’s Dad’s truck?”
My uncle’s ancient blue minivan was parked behind them.
It had a dent in the side and one missing hubcap.
Dad glanced over his shoulder.
“This one still runs.”
“You own a truck.”
“Also true.”
“Then why are we using Uncle Mike’s van?”
“More room.”
I narrowed my eyes.
Something was going on.
I just didn’t know what.
Before I could press him for an explanation, a brand-new white SUV pulled into the parking space beside us.
