My alarm buzzes at 7 a.m., but I am already awake. 

I don’t remember them being this loud when I lived here four years ago. Oh yeah, back then I slept in the basement apartment, my adult hideaway, a floor below the breakfast table. It was cool, dark and quiet.

But the boys are older now. And they have taken the basement back. Like I was never there at all, the pull-out bed has been de-converted to its original couch form. Cords are strung across the floor between it and the television. They ultimately plug into an Xbox positioned prominently where my plastic drawers of underwear and socks used to be. Tangled in the cords between the couch and the TV is a Rock Band drum set. The twins got it last year for their birthday. 

The air no longer carries the waft of my hairspray. Instead, it holds the unmistakable scent of teenage boys, banging on their digital drumbs until they are red and sweaty in the face. 

The boys are older now, so Uncle and Aunt have their hands full. I know they don’t want me here. 

But since I only needed a place to stay for a couple of months, while I saved money to find another city apartment, Uncle and Aunt agreed to let me stay. But the basement is occupied. So I am sleeping in Oldest Cousin’s bedroom while Bob lives in the city dorms for his freshman year. 

When my alarm goes off again, I roll to my side and smack for the virtual snooze button on my cell phone, then roll onto my back, eyes open, and focus on Bob’s ceiling. I try not to cringe in annoyance at the constant creaking of the wooden staircase on the other side of my current bedroom door. 

“I’m coming!” yells one of the twins from the top of the stairs in response to my uncle’s threatening calls that they are leaving in five minutes and he better get down there to eat at least two bites of his breakfast—Frosted Mini-Wheats that are getting soggy waiting to fulfill their purpose. 

Like a lion in the wild, I lay still, wanting them to forget I’m there.

“Charlotte, are you up?” my lioness guise does not work. I can feel Uncle’s presence, waiting for my response at the bottom of the stairs. 

“I’m up,” I say. Uncle and Aunt are disappointed that I am still in bed. They add this to their lists of disappointments—I also do not have an apartment, emotionally stable friends, a practical understanding of money, or proper respect for seniority. 

I hear Twin Two thud down the stairs and two Frosted-Mini-Wheats-bites worth of time later, swing open the front door and climb into the car with his brother while Uncle kisses Aunt goodbye. Outside Bob’s bedroom windows, I hear their car back out of the driveway and fade off toward the high school. 

Reaching for my iPad on the floor next to Bob’s bed, I flip over the magnetic cover and swipe to unlock the screen. My email is already open as the last app I viewed before closing the device last night. I have one new message tagged with a red exclamation mark, Microsoft’s icon for “urgent.”

7:35 a.m
Hi Charlotte, 
Could you take a look at this? We are presenting these new concepts to the client at 10 am and thought a writer should take a look. 
Let me know.
Thanks. 

I tap on the attachment and watch as it downloads. Duh, you should have a writer look at it. Why does no one ever realize that the words are important until the last minute? 

“Charlotte, are you ready?” Aunt calls impatiently from downstairs. It makes her nervous that she is packing up to leave and I haven’t come out of Bob’s room yet. She wants to catch the 8:05 train into the City. 

I keep calm and think for myself. Almost instinctually, I know what to do. 

Then I unfold myself from the blankets and creek open Bob’s bedroom door. I hang over the iron railing and see Aunt at the bottom of the stairs putting on her coat. 

“Hey, Aunt,” I say. “Don’t worry about me. My boss just sent me something urgent to edit, so I am going to work from here this morning. I’ll call a cab to the train station in a of couple hours.”

Aunt says goodbye in a hurry. She doesn’t have time to disagree if she is going to catch her train.

Back in Bob’s bed, I hit “Reply all.”

Hello,
Thank you for sending this to me. I am happy to help. 
Because this is so last minute, I am going to work from home this morning. I do not want to lose an hour in my commute. I’ll work on this now and send it back shortly. I’ll be in the office by 12:30-1 p.m.
Thanks,
Charlotte

I push send and start to stretch, waking up to an empty house. Slippers on, I grab my iPad and emerge from Bob’s room. I creek down the wooden staircase and into the kitchen, carried by the scent of freshly brewed Cafe Bustelo. 

I pour the rest of the pot into a blue ceramic mug and sit in the sunniest seat at the kitchen table. 

I select the Style section of the New York Times strewed across the table, and percolate over a few articles before opening my iPad for business. 

Alone at the table, I remind myself who I am. For fun, I update my Facebook status. Then I get to work.