Chapter 2 #2
When my own children were teens, I had worried myself almost sick when they started driving.
So much could go so wrong so quickly. I often wondered how people went about their days so carefree in light of these facts.
Maybe you just had to live long enough to fully understand the unseen dangers lurking around every corner.
This living arrangement could go very wrong as well, especially in an unfinished duplex, where we’d still have to share some space.
I’d seen enough episodes of Judge Judy and The People’s Court to know that it was hard for friends and family, let alone strangers, to live together in peace. Do I really need a roommate?
I ran the figures through my head again. Yes, I do.
In my peripheral vision, I noticed the streetlight pop on.
Glanced at my phone. 8:12. No texts from Gabriella.
I checked my ringer again to make sure it was on.
I even thought about calling the girl—somebody’s daughter—again, but decided that might give “obsessive” vibes if I left yet another message.
Concern mixed with another helping of annoyance by 8:30. Now it was almost dark. Was she still coming? And if so, how in the world would she manage to unpack all her stuff in the dark?
I was limping on my half-asleep leg and had begun closing the blinds and pulling the shades for the evening when I heard the rhythmic thump of bass from a car speaker getting closer.
Closer. Stopping in the driveway, to my horror and relief, equally.
Gabriella was safe. And late. And loud! But at least I didn’t hear any cussing words in the music.
Through the slightly parted blinds, I watched as Gabriella’s extremely long, curly hair lifted in the wind, almost like one of those “flying dress” pictures. Except she was wearing skinny jeans and a yellow tank top with a picture of a woman popping bubble gum.
My Southern upbringing led me straight to the word biracial. After all those classes and trainings on diversity at the school, I somehow still had to check off a box when I met people.
The streetlight caught the girl’s face at an angle that made me soften.
She had plump baby-face cheeks. Almost a unibrow.
Her tawny skin shone in the light, but that crease between her eyebrow gave off “oldest child” aura.
If I hadn’t read through the application meticulously and known Gabriella’s age, I would have guessed the girl was older than her twenty-six years.
Maybe time and stress had done a number on her, too.
The engine died, bringing that ear-popping music to a blessed end.
Gabriella gave her car door a thrust, closing it by virtue of her wide hips. Then she paused, looking at the house like it was the Savior.
I knew exactly how she felt.
But somebody had to teach this child a thing or two about manners. You don’t tell someone you’re coming over in the daytime and show up several hours later, not having called, not responding to texts. It’s just plain rude.
I opened my door, then stepped out on the porch to greet her properly, having hoisted my Parent-Teacher Organization smile in place. “Hello, Gabriella. I’m Joyce. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
She shook my outstretched hand. “Yes, yes, yes, Joyce! So nice to meet you, too!” She tried to lift her voice and be as cheerful as my fake smile, but her words dragged. She must have been tired.
I’d have to take my lecture down a notch. “I was expecting you earlier.”
She looked to my right, at the expanse of our porch. “This is nice.” Then she walked three steps to her door. The distinct smell of garlic trailed her. “Is this my side?”
For some reason, my breath caught as I watched her face for signs of disappointment. Her cheeks actually seemed to rise higher, though. That made mine climb as well.
I responded, “Yes, indeed.”
She pressed her hands together for a few silent claps. “This place is beautiful,” she gushed.
“Thank you. My grandmother lived here.”
She gave an approving nod. “Mind if I put up some fairy lights on my side?”
“No problem.”
I was glad she liked what she saw, but she’d missed the whole part about me waiting up for her for hours. She couldn’t just walk in here late when she wanted to without some kind of communication. “Whew! I was wondering exactly what time you’d get here.”
Gabriella tilted her head and smiled at me. “Aww… That’s so sweet of you to worry about me.”
Sweet? Sweet! There is nothing sweet about worrying for a young girl out in the streets of Robin Creek…
Well, it was Robin Creek. And the streets were far from mean, so I couldn’t give it to her like I would have done for my own kids in Austin.
“I just thought you’d be here no later than five. The end of the business day, you know.”
She poked out her lips and scrunched up her face in confusion. “Is there…a problem?”
I wasn’t ready for her to throw a question back at me. “I—I… It’s just…it’s late, and it’s already dark. I tried calling and texting you to see when you’d be here, and I didn’t get a response.”
Her face unknotted itself. “Oh! Yeah. That. My phone died while I was at work. And I packed my charger in a bag that was, like, at the bottom of everything. So, yeah, I couldn’t respond. But I mean, I said I’d be here today, and it is today still, right?”
My anxiety took a big gulp. “Well, technically, yes. Today is today,” I had to agree.
“Then we’re good! Up top!” She held up a hand for me to give her a high five.
And I did, before I realized it, because I couldn’t come up with a sharp response in time to beat her happy gesture.
“Before I forget, here’s the money for next month.” She pulled out a wad of cash from her tight jeans pocket and shoved it toward me. “Can I get a receipt? I’m a stickler for good accounting.”
That, I could appreciate. Punctual payment and meticulousness. Overly good manners kept me from counting the money out loud, I suppose. “Sure thing. Let me give you a tour, and then I’ll get my book.”
“Cool.”
We entered through her door, and again, Gabriella’s face pulled wide with a smile. “Home sweet home.”
The neutral walls made the space seem bigger than it was.
“This is your great room. Over here to the left, your bedroom and bathroom.” I showed her the private space, remembering all those episodes of home-shopping shows I watched.
Being sure to point out the positive details.
Walk-in closet, natural light she’d get from the two windows in the daytime, the spacious countertop in the bathroom.
Gabriella ran a hand along the granite. “It’s even better than the pictures.”
“Thank you.”
“I can’t wait to see the kitchen,” she chirped. “It’s where I spend most of my time when I’m not working.”
“Oh! You love to cook?” I asked.
“I live to cook,” she said passionately, her eyes nearly twinkling with the correction. “One day I want my own Blaxican restaurant.”
“Black who?”
“Black and Mexican. Blaxican. Spanish soul food. And then I’ll get married, travel, have kids, and teach them all to cook so they can carry on my legacy.”
I hadn’t exactly asked for the map of her yellow brick road, but all righty then. I remembered being that young and optimistic. A long time ago. Before decades of reality swarmed in and dreams fizzed out. “That’s good” was my solemn reply.
“Out there’s your extended patio.” I gestured slightly as we passed her back door. Her feet continued to shuffle on behind me, so I didn’t bother to open it. She wanted to see the kitchen.
“Voilà!” I announced as I flicked the switch to show the kitchen. It wasn’t worthy of a gourmet chef, but she should be able to stir up some fancy meals so long as she owned the right tools.
I twirled around, expecting to see her delightful smile, but instead her lips were as straight as a ruler. “I see.” She leaned past me. “Ummm… Is it…open to the other side?”
A zing of fear sprinted from my heart to my feet and back up again. “Yes. I was clear about that in my advertisement.”
Gabriella whipped her phone out of her pocket. “The listing said I’d have my own kitchen. Updated kitchen.”
“That was my original plan,” I clarified, “but the contractors said it wasn’t possible. So I re-listed.”
Undeterred, Gabriella thrust her shaking phone in my face. “See?”
Sure enough, the words: Enjoy your own bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen in this completely remodeled, updated duplex home. Somehow she had stumbled on the old ad. Which also meant she must have given me the old rent amount in that yet-uncounted roll of money.
“I’m so sorry. That was the old ad. Looks like there’s been a mistake. I don’t know how all this works on the internet… I guess the old ad didn’t delete everywhere. I’m charging two hundred dollars less because it’s gonna be a while before they finish the kitchen.”
Gabriella lowered the phone, and her flushed, tight face returned to focus. “How long?”
“I don’t know,” I answered as honestly as I could, then gulped down the anxiety climbing up my throat. “It was an honest mistake. But if you don’t want to stay, I understand. Seems like cooking in your own kitchen is quite important to you.”
“It is. Was,” she barely could whisper.
Tears began filling her eyes, and I fought the urge to hug her and fuss at her at the same time, as I did to Terri when she got to her college dorm and realized her room was about half the size she’d imagined it would be.
But Terri wasn’t a rent-paying tenant like Gabriella, who had been thoroughly deceived by an outdated post. I apologized again.
She took a deep breath, and her pretty face softened a bit. “Mistakes happen.”
“Yes. They do. Maybe we can work something out?” I asked.
She crossed her arms and asked point-blank, “Do you cook?”
I felt like I was the one being interviewed now. “Not much. I mean, it’s just me, and I don’t eat much.” Even when it was just Eric and me, we probably threw out more food than we ate. A shame before God, my father would have said.
“What about cleaning?”
“I never go to bed with dishes in the sink,” I stated. “Not so much as a fork.”
Gabriella tilted her head slightly, her eyes reflecting deep thought. “Golden kitchen rule.”
My body buzzed with panic. What if she left? I’d have my first month in the new place with no rent money from a tenant. My plans couldn’t fall apart this quickly, could they?
Yes, they could. This could all backfire, just as Eric had said it would. I’m not trying to scare you, but you’re going to find out what a cold, hard world it is out there without me, Joyce. I don’t want that for you.
Maybe he’d been right. If I’d been a woman with a husband, those contractors might not have been so quick to ask for more money, and then I wouldn’t be standing there, wringing my fingers behind my back and hoping this young lady wouldn’t walk out the door with her cooking aspirations and her rent money in tow.
Gabriella sighed. “I’m already packed up. And I need this fresh start.”
I’d been frozen for so long, I felt my eyelids creak when I finally blinked back to life. “Welcome, Gabriella.” I thrust her key at her.
She took it. “Gracias. I’ll start unpacking.”
I nodded, glad we’d come to something reasonable. If it meant I had to live like a hotel resident for a while, fine. Sandwiches and small meals and fast food, fine. Because I could not make a fool of myself in front of my ex-husband and my daughter, and even my own self.