3. Chanice
Chanice
“Ihave leftovers!” I scream into the living room as I close the door behind me.
Without looking up, I can hear their footsteps rush over to me as excitement and hunger push them to my side. At this hour, the younger two should be sleeping, but they know what working catering shifts brings.
“Here, let me help,” Imani says, lifting the bags from my hands.
I look at her smiling face and feel my breath catch in my throat. Usually, she is playing up the sulky teenager vibes, so it has been days since I’ve seen her teeth shining in my direction. She turns away, and her short curly hair moves with her, bouncing as she walks.
“What did you bring us?” Jamal asks, barely lifting his head from the book about penguins in his hand.
His fro stands at weird angles, letting me know he has been stress-pulling it.
“Tons of fancy stuff.”
“Like what?” asks Gabs. Having just turned eight years old, she is still light enough that I can lift her into my arms with little strain.
“Like cakes, and ricotta mashed potatoes, and focaccia.” I nuzzle into her neck as I say the words, pressing her closer to me.
Her little brow furrows in confusion at everything that follows “cakes”.
“Don’t worry, it’s good,” I say, putting her back down. She runs for the kitchen, where Imani is unpacking everything.
Dropping my backpack onto the coffee table, I move into our small flat, trying to step over the clutter that is four people living in a two-bedroom space.
Trainers, bags, and unfolded clothes litter the living room, pouring into the open-concept dining room and kitchen.
The only space not cluttered with all our belongings is the hall that leads to their rooms. It would probably be better if I had a bedroom to put all my stuff in, instead of just a dresser holding up the TV.
I don’t, though, so I just have to find space among our sparse furniture.
Since my bed is the couch, blankets and sheets are always sitting on the end table, waiting to be used. Making it easy for me to get my sleeping arrangements ready, in preparation for the sleep deprivation finally winning out.
“I hope work was good, because I have bad news,” Imani says while bringing her plate over to our mismatched dining set.
She grabs the sturdiest chair and plops into it, bringing her feet up to sit cross-legged. Jamal and Gabs join her, and they all look at me in anticipation. Three sets of light brown eyes look into my matching ones as they wait for me to speak.
“What?” My stomach hitches, pushing up everything I ate until it hits the back of my throat.
She points to the coffee table. On top of the stack of bills is a letter, unfolded and left open to read. As my fingers graze the paper, my heart picks up an erratic beat. The words come off the page, floating into my mind as I scan the document.
“He can’t fucking do this!” I throw it back down, hands instantly making a home on my waist.
“We’re cooked, aren’t we?” Jamal asks, mouth half full of food.
“He can, and he is,” Imani says.
I look down at it again, just to be sure what I’m seeing is the truth.
In clear black and white, it says Lenny is evicting us.
He is using the grounds that he intends to move his family in, but why would he do this to me?
I have been in this flat since I was sixteen, when rent in East London was a little more sensible.
Now, thanks to gentrification, we will be lucky to find anything to house us here.
“Bloody hell.” I slouch into the couch and lay my head back against the cushion. Closing my eyes, breath labors in and out as I fight for every steady one. My heartbeat spikes and then stutters, stopping every time my panic wins the battle. My hands shake as I rest them on my legs.
“We can go to Australia. Live by the ocean and see the reef.” Jamal’s love of marine life pokes through his panic. His voice barely penetrates the buzz building in my ears at the lack of oxygen.
“What money are we going to move with, stupid?” Imani sounds closer to me.
“I have some quid from selling my old stuffed animals. How much do we need?”
“More than you have, Gabs,” Jamal says.
A hand slides on top of mine. It’s big enough that it has to be Imani’s. I look to the side to see her staring at me. She bites down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, her eyes crinkling around the corners.
“It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.” The words push out of my mouth with as much weight as my breath currently holds.
The air thickens with their combined disbelief, pushing me to get myself together.
“I mean it, guys. We’ll be okay.”
For the last four years, since I got custody of them, I have made sure they have everything they need. I will not fail them now. Silence descends on us as they wait to see if I will break under this additional pressure. I sit up a little straighter, looking each one of them in the eyes.
“We have ninety days. That is plenty of time to find something new.”
Gabby’s yawn is the only response. I look at the time on my phone to see that it is just past 1 a.m., and much too late for her to be up. Jamal may be eleven, but he looks just as tired.
“Let’s get to bed. We can have a bigger conversation about our options tomorrow.”
“Just don’t rule out Australia,” Jamal says, placing his plate in the sink
They shuffle off to their rooms, and Imani throws one last look over her shoulder before she goes.
With them gone, I let the tears come as frustration spill over the brink of my eyes.
We are barely getting by now. We can’t afford to pay more rent, let alone save for a first month and a deposit.
Why would Lenny do this to us? Ever since I started renting here, he has always helped me out with shifts at his pizza shop, or an extension on the payment.
What changed? I press my palms against my lids, forcing everything to stay in.
I’ve got to keep it together if we have a shot at getting through this.
In need of some dopamine, I change and then unlock my phone to head to social media.
As the screensaver clears, I see Alexander has already texted me.
A simple nice to meet you and have a good night.
I shake my head, trying to let loose whatever nerve got me to this point with him.
Sending back, same, I open the first app I see and let myself get lost in mindless scrolling.
Despite all the rest I need, my alarms blare to life at 6 a.m., waking me up.
Sleep crusts in the corners of my eyes as I sit up and wipe at the dried drool on my cheek.
Hearing a timer count down in my head, urgency has me moving before I’m ready.
Having fallen asleep without a wash, I’m in desperate need of one to clear the stench of sweat and food.
As soon as the water is warm enough, I move under it while trying not to wet my hair. The stand-up shower barely fits my full body, so maneuvering while I wash myself is a workout. More tired than I was before I started, I sluggishly get out and get dressed.
By the time I finish getting ready, the timer has diminished to just thirty minutes left, leaving me with just enough time to make it to the café I work at. Leaving the kids asleep, I sneak out of the flat and head out.
The tube is just a block from our place, and the walk helps clear my head.
Instantly, my mind trails to last night.
Did I really think I had time to go on a date with some rich guy?
Working seven days a week, most weeks, all my free time goes to the kids.
Doing catering jobs most evenings, and the café during the day, when do I think I can fit in a man?
As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone lights up with his name.
Good morning, he sends.
Good morning. Sleep well? I text back, still unsure of why I am even trying.
Suddenly, my phone rings.
“Uh, hello?” I say.
“I didn’t sleep at all. How did you sleep, and why are you up so early?”
Trying to wrap my head around the fact that he just called me, I take a beat. We only met yesterday, and I’ve already talked to him more than I have any other man in the last four years. Still, for some reason, I answered.
“I have work, and I also barely slept.” Getting to the entrance of the tube, I descend the stairs, pushing into the fray. “Can’t you sleep now? It’s Sunday,” I ask.
“I’m too wired to even think about lying down. I just got back from a jog, and am contemplating getting breakfast. Would you possibly be able to join me?”
“Isn’t our date supposed to be you taking me to an event?” I swipe my card and enter the platform.
People stand around, waiting for the next train to come through. Forcing my way to the front, I find my own spot to linger in.
“That can be one of our dates, but impatience is a fault of mine. I want to see you as soon as possible.”
Pulling the phone away from my face, I stare at it like it’s the man. One of our dates? My eyebrows bunch together, and my lips turn down as I try to make sense of what he is saying.
“Well, I can’t, I have work.”
“When don’t you have work?” His voice is light and airy, like he is smiling on the other side.
I imagine him in his fancy penthouse, sitting on some brown leather couch, lounging in luxury. He also happens to be shirtless in this daydream, water trickling down his chest from the shower he took after his jog.
Trying to rid myself of that image, I focus back on the conversation.
“I always work, but maybe after my shift, if you don’t mind getting dinner instead.
” Staring down at my wrinkled top and plain jeans, I wonder if I have anything in my wardrobe up to the task of going out to eat with him.
Really, I should focus on solving our housing crisis instead of playing into this fantasy. But I need sex. It’s been way too long.
“Tonight? Perfect. I know just the place.”
“I like to eat, so it better be good.” I check the time.
“I like to eat too, so it will be. Trust me.”
I want to say I don’t know him to trust him, but I let it go. Instead, I decide to chide him a little. “You look like you eat plain chicken and broccoli every day of your life.”
I bet his fridge is packed full of meal plans created by some personal trainer to help him keep up his physique. Even if I had the money, I would probably be bigger than I am with the amount of food I would consume.
He laughs, clearly okay with a little bit of teasing. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, even though I am insulted that you think I don’t have taste buds.”
“Depends,” I say, smiling, “what do you consider to be seasoning?”
If he says salt and pepper, I’m hanging up.
“My favorites are cumin and paprika. I love Mediterranean food. But I have a cupboard full of every kind you could think of.”
I nod my head in approval, and then remember he can’t see me.
“That’s impressive.”
“Just wait until I cook for you then.” The timbre of his voice is low and sexy.
He says the words like the food will be so good, my panties will drop. Honestly, that would be the result if what he made was delicious. But this is also more talk about the future.
“You have a lot of dates planned for us.”
“I’m hopeful,” he says.
I want to question why, but the whoosh of air being pushed through the tunnel at the sounds of an approaching train brings me back to reality.
“Sorry, gotta go, text me the address.” Before he can say anything else, I hang up and move into line to get on.
It’s better to end on that note than find myself disappointed before we even go on the date.