CHAPTER TWO
OCTAVIA
I busy myself cleaning for the next two hours. Music on, I make sure to leave Nova alone. My baby might be little, but she’ll let you know when she’s not feeling you…and for now, I’m on her pissed off list. With a sigh, I pause cleaning the toilet. Stealing a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, I frown.
“I’m not achieving the goal, am I?” I whisper to my reflection. “The Santa thing really isn’t that bad,” I stress. “Well, if the guy is a molester or worse,” I grumble. “But after some rules, what harm can it do?”
I shake my head at my own tom-foolary. If anything came out of this one side conversation, it’s the fact that I can’t allow myself to turn into an anal bitch. Yeah, I want to make things happen, but what’s the use if I’m still making life unlivable?
“Nova!” I yell as I jerk off the yellow cleaning gloves to toss into the sink.
I ignore her sassy body language when she meets me in the hallway.
“I am sorry.”
I grind my teeth at her smirk and hard stare.
“I should have been more neighborly,” I admit.
“I agree,” she mumbles.
“So, he told you he was Santa?” I press to know.
The fact that I was showing interest seems to get her out of her stank. Wide eyes, she nods.
“Isn’t that strange? I mean, why would he tell you that if he’s here to rest? Whose to say you won’t tell your friends…then everyone would know,” I point out, bringing logic into the room.
“Yeah…I think it was just because I caught him.”
“Maybe. Well, if he is Santa or not, I would feel better if you mind your business. If he is Santa, he needs his rest before Christmas…and if he isn’t, then he’s a crazy guy that might be after little kids. You get me?” I press.
“I get you,” she whispers as she turns her head in the direction of the house next door in thought. “I always thought Santa was old,” she points out.
I thank the stars every day that my little girl is a thinker. While other kids tend to go with the flow and don’t appear to consider all angles, Nova is different. You aren’t going to push or bully her into doing anything. She will gladly stand by and let you fuck around and see. Then she’ll tell the story of your stupidity and how she tried to warn you.
“He’s supposed to be,” I remark, slowly. “So, are we back to being friends?” I wonder, sheepishly.
‘Are you going to make me breakfast?” she tosses back while rubbing her belly.
“Deal,” I state with a smile.
“Then, I’ll say, yes,” she grins. “You know I will always love you, Mama,” she adds.
Gathering her to my side, we walk towards the kitchen. Gifts or no gifts, times like this…I know I’m blessed.
**
brADLY
Six hours, thirty- one minutes, forty-seven seconds, that’s how long it took for the first knock on the door. After that, it was a steady flow of loving, jolly, food toting townsmen. Before long, I had met just about every woman, waved at every child, and shook the hand of every non jealous man. I’m glad that most of the food and sweets are edible. At least the people that fought the cold to introduce themselves to me kept it lively. Laughter and jokes from my new friends actually erased the depression I’ve been battling.
As much as I wanted to lay low, the cat being out of the bag wasn’t that bad. For the most part, nobody came off as major assholes. Of course, the town’s wanna be snobs tried to get me on their trashy wave length, however, I didn’t bite. Now, the most fun happened when the group of town gossips and LGBT showed up.
I won’t lie…my ears perk up when the topic turns to the chick next store. I happily refill my visitors’ tea cups while they share the gossip.
“I was wondering if she was going to take him back after he cheated with the cashier at the Dollar General?”
“Who?” I breathe as I quickly sit back down.
Being influenced by the vibe, I plop a sugar cookie into my mouth. I moan my approval which makes the old woman sitting around the coffee table grin with pride.
“Octavia…the woman living next to you.”
“Oh,” I sing. I finally have a name.
“How the hell you gonna fuck over that for that scum at the damn Dollar Tree?” huffs Doug.
“Honey, cuz it was an easy screw,” whispers Ms. Collins.
“Well, I’m just happy she mustered her pride, finally. She has a little girl watching and learning,” nods Mrs. Pepperweather.
“Yeah, she’s sticking to her guns this time. I swore she would have let his ugly ass back in,” admits Ms. Collins.
“The old man ain’t ugly,” whistles Doug. “I can’t be blind over that fact. That’s half the damn man’s problem. He knows legs will open wide for him.”
“So, her boyfri-“
“Husband,” Ms. Collins corrects. “Ten years waisted on his ass,” she grumbles while she raked crumbs from her lap.
“I’m proud of Octavia,” praises Mrs. Pepperweather. “That piece of shit moved her here knowing he was no good. But she’s doing what she has to do for her and that little girl. I see her working long hours, doing side jobs. She’s too damn tired to go back.”
“You know, my daughter told me that Octavia’s really stressed,” reveals Ms. Collins.
“Why?”
My head darts back and forth between them to keep up.
“He ain’t paying like he should, and she’s sick of fighting him. She should let the courts handle it, but until then, it’s all on her. She’s determined, but that girl needs help. And from what I hear, her family isn’t the supporting kind,” Ms. Collins finishes in a side mouth mumble.
“Hum, goes to show that a smile don’t mean happiness,” nods Doug.
I lose complete interest when the topic shifts to another person I have no clue about. I understand why she was pissed enough to come at me this morning. Stress and the weight of the world does that to a person. I can’t count the number of times I had to deal with the emotional ups and downs of my mom. I was the only mental support she had back in the day. I did everything and anything I could as a kid to lessen the load and to keep her spirits high.
The house groans over the emptiness which rolls in once everyone leaves. Taking a shower, I stroll through the house in my plush robe. A smile tugs on the corners of my lips as the first off key note reaches me. I find myself twisting and tapping to the beat. I cringe then laugh while I pile yet another plate of unhealthy, greasy ribs and garlic cheese potatoes before heading into the sitting room facing Octavia’s house. With no shame, I scoop up my binoculars, adjust the focus to indulge in my nightly pleasure of peeping. It’s a Los Angeles habit that keeps me entertained at night.
Nightly, Octavia and her girl fire up the TV and their mics for Karaoke. A mix of Christmas and pops songs are on the chopping block to be butchered by both of them. Neither one seems to mind, and neither do I as I sing along from my home. I watch them laugh, dance, and hug each other. After five to three songs, they would cozy up before the fire to play a board game and to watch a holiday cartoon. Spying on them is so bittersweet. I can’t look away, and I have to admit is the highlight of my night. As they wind down for the night, I watch as one by one, the lights within the home are turned off. I follow the progress of their nightly routine until I’m left longing to be a part of something I took for granted, and I no longer have.