7:10 p.m. — I walk home and run into a few women who are house hunting in the lobby. I tell them the pros and cons of the building, and show them around my place in case it helps. I don't start cooking until 7:30. I make garlicky Italian chicken with red sauce, shirataki (wacky 10 calorie yam noodles) for me and TJ's gluten-free fettuccine for H., and a funky herbed brie, garlic pesto peas, and hearts of palm on the side. My parents call so I multitask for the next forty minutes. Raucous religious gatherings will be around the airport when they both fly off to different places, so we're all a bit on edge. They ask about H. and his newish job, which he loves. Fortunately, they adore him and have really welcomed him into the family. I pay a hospital bill for my dad ($38), but he'll pay me back when he gets home. We all share a credit card to accumulate frequent flier points quickly, usually for their travel back home, and rotate them as much as possible. My dad loves hacking the game.