27. Maisy
27
MAISY
Me
Can I come over tonight?
Perched on the arm of Vera’s boring grey couch, I chew my thumb nail and wait for Jensen’s response. I have a feeling I’m already failing at being a…girlfriend, I suppose. I’ve sent him a handful of text messages since my awkward goodbye at his front door three days ago. He hasn’t pointed out my lack of communication in any of his replies.
To be fair, I don’t know what I’m doing. I may have expressed my desire to explore a relationship with him, but what happens now? What are the rules and expectations? I’m floundering like a fish out of water, and it’s only been three freaking days.
Jensen
You never have to ask. I’ll leave the door unlocked. See you after work.
A puff of air bursts from my lips. He could’ve told me to eat pavement, and I wouldn’t blame him. I make a mental note to work on improving my communication skills and stuff my phone in the back pocket of my denim shorts.
In a strategic move to protect my sanity, I didn’t announce my presence to Vera when I let myself into her house. She’s watching television in her bedroom, the volume unnecessarily loud, while I’m waiting on the person I hired to clean.
When I told Vera about my plan to bring in a cleaning service, she had no comment. She doesn’t like strangers in her space, but she’ll have to suck it up if she wants my help around here because I can’t do everything myself.
When I answer the knock on the front door, my jaw drops in surprise at who I find on the other side.
“Hi,” she says with a nervous wave. “I’m Ainsley.”
I recognize Jensen’s employee but never caught her name before now. She’s kind of young to be cleaning houses, but hey, earn that money, girl.
Closing the door behind her, I say, “Thanks for coming on short notice.”
“It’s no problem. I’m grateful for the work.”
Ainsley fidgets with the hem of her athletic pullover—it’s too warm outside to be wearing long sleeves—and sweeps aside the bangs that reach her chin. They’re long enough to pull back into her ponytail, but she leaves them loose for some reason. I’d bet money the bangs are her armor, shielding her from anyone trying to look too closely.
Thick, long chestnut hair contrasts with her fair complexion. She has sharply defined features, her high cheekbones softened by big, brown doe eyes. She’s average height and, judging by the toned legs covered by tight yoga pants, extremely fit.
“Um. I don’t actually have my own supplies. I forgot to put that on the flyer.” She winces at the admission.
To ease her worries, I say, “That’s no problem. Everything you need is in the hall closet or in the laundry room above the dryer. Follow me, and I’ll show you around.”
She relaxes, her stiff movements becoming looser as I give her the two-minute tour of Vera’s house. I let Ainsley know Logan’s room is off-limits. Imagining how Vera will react if someone invades that sacred space sends a chill down my spine. It would not go over well. So I reiterate the no-access policy to Ainsley, and she assures me she won’t even peek at the doorknob.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” I say when we end the tour in the laundry room.
“Thanks. I’ll get to work and be out of here before you know it.”
While she cleans, I sort through a stack of mail. Vera’s meticulous about paying bills on time and keeping her paperwork organized, so I’m a little shocked at the pile of sealed envelopes spread haphazardly on the kitchen counter. At least a week’s worth. Nothing indicates a past due notice or anything urgent, so I set the mail aside in a neat stack and settle on the couch to scroll through my phone.
Less than an hour passes with sounds of the vacuum, the spritzing of cleaning products, and the wet mop slapping against the linoleum when Vera’s raspy screech pierces my ears.
“Who are you?” she yells.
I leap off the couch and race to her bedroom, where Ainsley’s frozen with a death grip on the vacuum handle. Grabbing her by the arm, I drag her into the hallway before locking myself in the room with my distraught mother.
In a harsh whisper, I say, “I told you someone was coming to clean. There’s no reason to yell at her.”
“I don’t like strangers in my house,” she says, clutching a quilt to her chest.
I pull a calming breath through my nose and force a gentle tone. “You’ll have to get used to people being around. I can’t do everything, so I’ll be calling in some help when I need it. But don’t worry, no one will go into Logan’s bedroom.”
Her wary gaze remains locked on me as I back out of the room and shut the door. Ainsley loiters in the hallway near the kitchen, twisting her hands together, her face pale and eyes wide.
“Should I leave?” she whispers.
Waving a dismissive hand, I speak at a normal volume. “Ignore her. She’s weird about people in her space.”
Ainsley’s brows shoot up at my remark, spoken loud enough for Vera to hear over the now muted television. “Oh. I heard she was sick or something.” The color on her cheeks darkens. “I mean, people at the bar talk, so I hear a lot of gossip.”
I jerk my chin toward the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink? Water or iced tea?”
“Water would be great. Thanks.”
While I retrieve glasses and pour the filtered water, I steal glances at the mysterious girl. Her worn sneakers have seen a lot of mileage, and the hems of her sleeves are littered with frayed threads. The chipped polish on her fingernails matches the orange-red shade of her lipstick, which sparks my interest.
“Poppin’ Poppy or Poppy Sickles?” I ask.
She blinks at me. “I’m sorry?”
“Your lipstick shade.” I point at her mouth to clarify.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I bought what was on sale and didn’t look at the name.” Her blush deepens at the admission.
“That color is hard for most people to pull off, but it suits you. Goes well with your warm undertones.”
She tucks a strand of bangs behind her ear. “Thanks.”
Sitting at the table with our drinks, it’s clear that Ainsley won’t be the one to strike up a conversation, leaving the task to me.
“So how long have you worked at Bruno’s?” I ask, establishing a safe ground for her to open up.
“A few months. I enjoy working there. Jensen’s a great boss.”
I bet he is. Jensen’s good with people, encouraging and patient when he needs to be. Leadership comes naturally to him, and I imagine he has a laid-back management style, yet he’s decisive enough to garner respect from his staff. I’d like to see him in action one of these days.
“So, you have two jobs?”
“Three, actually. I also help clean the rooms at the bed-and-breakfast on the weekends.”
“You’re a hard worker. Good for you.” A pause hangs between us for long seconds, the only noises our sips and swallows. “So…are you in college?”
She licks her lips and places her empty glass on the table. “Yeah. I’m a full-time student.”
My eyeballs bulge out of their sockets. “Three jobs and school? How do you manage it all?”
“I like to keep busy. It’s easy to fill your time when you live alone.”
Alone .
“No family in the area?” She shrinks into herself, shifting in her chair, so I backtrack and say, “You don’t have to answer. It’s none of my business. I’m not even sure why I’m asking you all these personal questions.”
She frees the bangs trapped behind her ear, letting them cover her face. “It’s fine. And no. No family around.”
Or friends, I’m guessing. I want to learn more about Ainsley, but her reluctance to be forthcoming is evident in her closed-off posture, her arms drawn close to her sides as she spins her empty glass. Just when I think our conversation has gone stale, and she’s ready to flee, she surprises me by opening up.
“I grew up in south Texas but moved to the area for college. The school offered me a small scholarship, but I have to pay the rest of the tuition myself on top of living expenses. I had three roommates, but they moved on when our lease ended. It’s for the best, really, because I never got close to them. I tend to focus on my goals and shut everything else out, and living alone takes the pressure off me to be social.” She cringes and squeezes her eyes shut. “I didn’t mean to say all that. You’re easy to talk to.”
One corner of my mouth lifts. My friends vomit every sordid detail of their lives at my feet, so I’ve heard the sentiment before. “I get that a lot.”
Sensing she isn’t entirely comfortable discussing her living situation or the circumstances which brought her to Walford, I steer the conversation toward college.
“What are you studying?”
“Creative writing. People tell me it’s a useless degree, but I enjoy reading and writing about worlds better than the one we live in. And if writing doesn’t work out, I’m getting my teaching certification as a backup.”
I nod, wholly impressed with this girl. “Sounds like you have a solid plan. Kudos to you for having your shit together at…how old are you?”
“My birthday just passed. I’m twenty-one now.”
“Really?” Her age shouldn’t surprise me, considering she’s a student, but she carries herself like someone who’s seen hardship. Someone wise beyond her years. “Happy belated birthday.”
“Thanks.” She stifles a grin and pushes the glass farther away from her. “I should go. I have a paper to finish before my shift at the bar.”
“I’m leaving too. Let me grab my purse, and I’ll walk you out.”
Once I’ve locked the door behind us, I hand her some cash, which she counts before holding out two bills.
“You gave me too much,” she says.
“Please keep it. You deserve a big tip after being yelled at by my mother. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I understand the burden of having difficult family members.”
I’ve never been so curious about someone in my life. I want to root around in Ainsley’s past and find out more about her. No doubt, getting to know her would be equivalent to pulling teeth.
Her gaze slides to an old black sedan parked on the curb. When she notices I’ve followed her line of sight, embarrassment stains her cheeks once again. The car has definitely seen better days, plagued with a dent in the rear bumper and a cracked front windshield. Prolonged exposure to the sun has faded the exterior paint, and duct tape holds one of the side mirrors in place. Some might call it a hunk of junk.
Shifting on her feet, she says, “Thanks again for the water and the chat. And for hiring me.”
“No problem. Any time,” I say.
Something about Ainsley calls to me. It could be the kindred loneliness I sense within her, or her work ethic and desire to improve her lot in life. Or the wear and tear of her possessions reflecting the potential struggles she’s endured. I’m inclined to help her in some way—to be a friend if she needs one. At least for as long as I’m in Walford.
I blink, clearing my head of the instinctual thought of leaving again. I told Jensen I wouldn’t run, and I meant it. My mind needs a restart button to eliminate that line of thinking if there’s any hope of allowing myself to be happy here.