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.
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Perfect timing.
My new roommate, Chloe, stepped out.
We had been talking online for almost two months before move-in day.
She seemed nice. Funny. Outgoing.
She was the kind of person who could walk into a room full of strangers and start a conversation within thirty seconds.
We had already joked about staying up too late, decorating our dorm room, and somehow surviving freshman year together.
Now she walked toward me with her parents.
She looked at me.
Then at my dad.
Then my mom.
Then the garbage bags.
Then the battered minivan.
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I noticed.
“Oh,” she said.
Just one word.
“Oh.”
I forced a smile.
“Hey.”
Her mother walked over.
“You must be Emma.”
“Yeah. Hi.”
I introduced everyone.
My dad extended his hand.
“Tom.”
Chloe’s father looked at his hand for half a second before shaking it.
“Greg.”
My face felt like it was on fire.
My mother, apparently oblivious to my embarrassment, smiled at Chloe.
“I love your bedding. That’s a beautiful color.”
Chloe glanced down at the bedding her mother had already carried from the SUV.
“Thanks.”
That was it.
Dad bent down and grabbed two garbage bags.
“Guess we’d better get Emma’s stuff upstairs before they tow us.”
Chloe looked toward the van.
I wanted the asphalt to open beneath my feet.
Inside the dorm, somehow, things got even worse.
Not because my parents were rude.
The exact opposite.
They were painfully friendly.
Dad held doors open for strangers.
Mom helped another girl’s grandmother carry a box.
They offered Chloe’s parents bottled water.
Dad volunteered to help someone move a shelf.
Mom complimented Chloe’s lamp.
They behaved like completely normal parents.
They just looked like they had spent the previous night sleeping under an overpass.
Every time I looked at Chloe, she seemed quieter.
Then two other girls from our floor walked into the room.
Chloe greeted them.
They started chatting.
A few minutes later, I heard Chloe whisper something.
“I didn’t know.”
The girls glanced in my direction.
I frowned.
“Didn’t know what?”
Before anyone answered, Chloe’s mother turned toward my mom.
“So, what do you do?”
My mother paused.
That alone caught my attention.
My mom had had the same job for fourteen years.
Fourteen years.
Yet she suddenly looked like she was searching for the safest possible answer.
“Oh,” she said. “A little bit of everything.”
I nearly dropped the lamp I was holding.
What?
I stared at her.
Mom avoided my eyes.
Her answer made absolutely no sense.
I looked at my dad.
He was suddenly very interested in assembling a shelf.
Too interested.
I grabbed my mother’s sleeve.
“Can you come into the hallway?”
Dad immediately stood.
“I’ll come too.”
“No.”
I stopped.
“Actually, yes. Both of you.”
The second the door closed behind us, I turned on them.
“What is wrong with you?”
Mom blinked.
“What?”
“This.”
I pointed between them.
“The clothes. The van. The bags. The weird answers.”
Dad said nothing.
“Are you trying to embarrass me?”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
My parents exchanged a look.
That look made me even angrier.
“See? That! You’ve been doing that all morning.”
Dad lowered his voice.
“We did it on purpose.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“The clothes. The van. All of it.”
I blinked.
For a second, I genuinely couldn’t process what he had said.
Then I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the alternative was screaming.
“You deliberately dressed like this?”
“Yes.”
“You deliberately packed my stuff in trash bags?”
Mom lifted one finger.
“That part was my idea.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
Dad glanced toward the dorm room.
Then he looked back at me.
“Because I wanted to see how your roommate treated you.”
I froze.
“What?”
He leaned against the wall.
“Just listen before you get mad.”
“I’m already mad.”
“Fair.”
“Why would you test Chloe? You don’t even know her.”
“No.”
“Then this is insane.”
“Possibly.”
That answer actually slowed me down.
Dad wasn’t smiling.
He wasn’t smug.
He looked serious.
“I noticed some things before today.”
“What things?”
He hesitated.
“Questions.”
“What questions?”
Mom answered this time.
“Questions about us.”
I frowned.
“Everyone asks about people’s parents.”
“I know,” Dad said. “But hers kept circling back to money.”
My stomach tightened.
I didn’t answer.
Dad continued.
“You told me she asked whether your car was actually yours.”
I remembered.
