One Fired Up Fourth

1. Aida

The second thecap leaves my hand it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It’s been non-stop studying since this school year started, and to know I’m finally done is the best feeling in the world. Well, I’m not done-done, but done for the summer, and looking forward to starting law school in a new place with new people.

My most recent break-up is not something I want to relive, and seeing him on campus these last few months just made me thankful that I’ll be long gone as of tonight.

“I’m sorry, Aida, but this isn’t working. I need someone who is serious about having fun, and you just aren’t that,” the dick who will remain nameless said to me while holding a beer in one hand and a joint in the other.

What a loser.

That will be the last time I fall for a hot guy with a cheesy pick-up line and abs of steel. Don’t get me wrong though, he still lives in my memory and is pulled out along with my vibrator when needed. Although, in my dreams he is headless.

The only thing I’m serious about is getting out of this town and enjoying the sound of waves lapping at the shore from the deck of the massive beach house I’ll be staying in this summer.

Alone.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

The second I saw the posting seeking someone to spend the summer taking care of the house, I jumped on it, interviewing several times with the owners till they ultimately picked me. It felt like a massive win, even more so when I realized I would not have to go home and stay with my parents.

Not that there’s anything wrong with my parents, it’s just that they still think I’m seventeen and have a ten o’clock curfew on a Saturday night because they don’t want to stay up waiting for me. And my mom is feeling pretty defeated these days since I didn’t find a husband during the four years I spent at college.

“Maybe law school will be the big winner,” she had said to me just last night.

You’d think getting into law school would have been the big winner, but nope. Winning a husband is the ticket to happiness. Good thing my sister is still single too so it’s not just me who gets shit from the family about it. It’s also probably why Amanda moved to Arizona to put some distance between her and our parents. She left for college two years ago and hasn’t come home. Wisconsin isn’t exactly the place you come back to unless you love the Packers, cheese and the arctic tundra.

I let out a sigh, looking around at all the smiling faces, some caps still floating in the air as people scramble to try to find theirs. It’s not happening. There are thousands of us, and I’m not even bothering to look for mine. I’m likely to find a cap that smells like body odor and dirty hair, and that’s not the memory I want to have of my college graduation.

The crowd begins to disperse, and I search for my parents, pushing up on my toes in the hopes of seeing my dad’s bald head shining in the glow of the afternoon sun, something he hates that I do. But Amanda and I have found it’s the most reliable way to locate him, putting it into effect one time at Disney World when we were in junior high. It’s stuck ever since.

And that’s when I see it, weaving through the crowd, I make my way over to where my parents are standing, also scanning the crowd.

“Please tell me you weren’t looking for my bald head,” my dad quips, giving me a smile when I nod.

“I’m sorry, but it works,” I reply, shrugging.

“Well, congratulations,” my dad now says, pulling me in for a hug. “Let’s hope that Amanda finishes in four years too.”

“Agreed,” my mom chimes in. “The expense of college is too much. Good thing you are planning to pay for law school yourself.”

“Yep,” I respond, but I know what’s coming, and it’s the guilt trip about me not coming home this summer. For some reason it’s all good when Amanda says she has to stay in Arizona because she has a job, but my house-sitting gig isn’t a “real” job. Amanda is a server at a local bar and the most real thing that happens there is the panic when the bar runs out of French fries.

“I gotta head out soon,” I remind them, and they both look at me, a confused expression on their faces. “The beach house?”

“Oh, yes,” my mom says. “I really thought that was going to fall through. And do you really think it’s safe to be staying at some stranger’s house?”

I knew this comment was coming and I still don’t have a response prepared. It pretty much consumed my thoughts for the last few nights, trying to come up with a witty comeback, but I came up with nothing but piss off. That’s not going to go over well.

“It’s not really a stranger’s house. I interviewed with them, and they will be in Europe, so they aren’t just going to show up, Mom.”

“So this is the kind of thing people do now, huh?” she questions, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. “Amanda is doing that whole online dating thing and that just makes me uneasy.”

“Which is worse, us being single or Amanda meeting strange men on the internet?” I ask, and as soon as I do, my dad lets out a muffled chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Sorry, something in my throat,” he mutters when my mom hits him with a scowl that could scare a bear. “What? I mean she has a point.” My dad slings an arm around my shoulders now, laughing quietly at my joke as he slips a card into my hand. “Shhh, your mom doesn’t know.”

“Dad, you didn’t have to do this. I’ve got money saved and I’m going to be getting paid weekly from the people whose house I’m watching. A lot actually.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but this is fun money. Go have some fun, Aida. You’ve spent the last four years working your ass off.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I lean into him, finding comfort in the weight of his arm around my shoulders, knowing this might be the last time he does something like this for me.

I’m about to be out on my own for good.

“Let’s grab something to eat and then we’ll see you off,” my mom now suggests, and I nod.

It doesn’t feel real, but Little Crab Island, South Carolina, here I come.

I pull up out front, double-checking the address, and comparing the picture on my phone to what is sitting in front of me.

Now, I’m not going to lie, a part of me was wondering if I was going to pull up to an empty lot or a complete shitbox of a house, but nope. It’s identical to the picture, and I sag with relief, texting Amanda a picture with a smiling face.

Amanda: Did you text it to Mom yet? Nice to know it’s a real place.

Me: Haven’t sent it to her yet. I haven’t even gone inside.

Amanda: Make sure the key works!

Shit. I didn’t even think of that, and it’s not a key but rather a code which is a nice change, no more remembering to grab my keys before I leave the house. I locked myself out of my apartment more times than I can count.

Pulling the car under the house, I smile, my cheeks beginning to ache as I realize this is exactly what I hoped it would be. I have no idea why, but parking my car under the house has already made my day.

I take my suitcase out of the trunk and sling my duffel bag over my shoulder, leaving a few other things in the car as I make my way up the steps.

Stopping at the door, I once again check the address, almost needing to pinch myself that I’m at the right location. But when the door opens after I punch in the code, I know I am.

It looks exactly like the pictures, and I don’t even know where to look first. It’s stunning and massive and gorgeous and perfect, and the view is worth a million dollars alone.

Leaving my bag near the door, I wander around, trying to take it all in, but it’s so perfect that I just can’t. I can’t even believe this is where I will be spending the next ten weeks. It’s just me and the beach and the ocean air.

I stop at the oversized island in the kitchen and find a note on the counter, and again I’m beaming like a complete fool.

Aida,

Enjoy your stay at our house. Thank you so much for agreeing to watch the house while we’re off on our European adventure. Our home is your home.

The Hendersons.

Along with the note is a binder filled with restaurant recommendations, the location of the local grocery store and a bunch of other information, including people to call should I need anything repaired while I’m here.

“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself as I slide open the massive doors that lead out to the deck that overlooks the ocean. “This house is…” I don’t even have the words, and I’m not even talking to anyone, just rambling to myself, wondering how the hell I even landed this deal. It’s too good to be true.

It’s not like I grew up poor or anything, but this house is next level wealth, like the kind people dream about, the kind you see from celebrities and professional athletes. I don’t even know what the Henderson family does for a living and I really don’t care. They could sell drugs and it wouldn’t matter to me because I get to spend ten weeks in paradise.

Okay, well, maybe selling drugs is where I would draw the line. I did watch Narcos, and I don’t think I’m cut out for that life.

I remove the cover from the patio furniture that is on the deck, plopping myself down, I let out a hard sigh, closing my eyes, I just listen. All I hear is the sound of the waves, and that’s exactly what I hoped for. It doesn’t get much better than this.

I have no idea what time it is when I wake up or how long I’ve been asleep, but it’s dark out and I’m still out on the deck. This patio furniture is more comfortable than my bed in my college apartment was. I can only imagine what the bed here is like.

Just as I’m about to go inside, I hear it. It sounds like someone yelling, but not in a way that indicates danger, but more like someone is having fun.

I laugh, thinking about how nice it is to have the freedom to just do whatever you want, and this person is living it up.

“Have fun!” I call out, knowing they can’t hear me, but it still makes me feel good, and just as I do, I’m hit with the overstimulating sound of music blaring.

It’s so loud that I imagine everyone within a two-mile radius can hear it. It’s like that time Amanda dated that guy who worked at the speaker store, and we could hear him coming from ten blocks away.

I look at my phone, noting that it is only ten o’clock. It’s not like it’s late or anything and people are here on vacation to enjoy themselves.

“Not everyone goes to bed at ten, Aida,” I tell myself, heading into the house, I pull the sliding doors closed, hoping to muffle the sound.

Making my way upstairs to the bedroom, I find the music only gets louder and when I look out the bedroom window, the deck next door is filled with people, one of them literally lighting off fireworks from it. Despite knowing it’s coming, the loud boom still makes me jump.

“Well, this is a fucking nightmare,” I curse out, shaking my head, I strip off my clothes and climb into the huge shower, hoping that by the time I’m done enjoying the multiple shower heads, the rager next door will be over.

Wishful thinking because it only seems to get louder, the longer I’m in the shower, now able to hear actual conversations of the crowds above the din of the water.

“Let it go, Aida,” I tell myself, drying off and putting on my pajamas. I pop a few gummy melatonin, good old nature’s Xanax and climb into the king-size bed with the softest sheets I’ve ever felt.

Closing my eyes, I take in a slow calming breath, trying to block out the noise from next door, but I swear these assholes have only amped up the music and with the music getting louder, so are their conversations. If you want to call them conversations, it just sounds like screaming to me. And with each passing second, I’m hit with a boom of fireworks.

What the hell are they even celebrating? It’s June!

I really regret telling that voice I heard earlier to have fun.

I take the pillow from the other side of the bed and smash it down over my head, muttering every swear word I can think of.

It has to end soon, right?