I didn’t order an entree.
At exactly 8:58 PM, we pulled into our driveway.
At 9:06 PM, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. A text message from Mom.
The heat just stopped working. Call your guy.
I stared at the glowing pixels on the screen. I didn’t chuckle. I didn’t merely smile. A deep, seismic wave of laughter erupted from my chest.
Owen wandered into the kitchen, a half-eaten burger in his hand. “Dad? What happened? Are you okay?”
I couldn’t speak. I just handed him the phone.
He read the message, his brow furrowing. “Who is your guy?”
“Usually,” I gasped, wiping a tear from my eye, “it’s me.”
But tonight, the rules of the universe had irrevocably shifted. And I was about to let them freeze.
Chapter 2: The Infrastructure of Enabling
To understand why my mother demanded I “call my guy” regarding a broken furnace, you have to understand the peculiar ecosystem of my profession.
