I move through the house, methodically removing anything personal that belongs to the people who actually own this chrome and glass monstrosity. If it’s not bolted down, it’s going in the hall closet, dumped in a box I found out in the garage.
Luckily enough there aren’t many photos downstairs of the family. And there’s nothing bolted down so I avoided that particular scenario.
At eight Mama called but I ignored it. Five minutes later she called again. And again when another five minutes passed. Until finally at eight-fifteen I had to pick up the call.
“I’m busy,” I say as introduction. I’m rifling through the clothes I brought with me while I was on house sitting duty, wondering what I could wear that would impress Mr. GQ.
Nothing. I have nothing that would knock his socks off. My Target clothes can only take me so far and most of them are pretty boring.
“You are never too busy to check in with me,” she says, sounding firm. Sounding super pissed off. My mother has always ruled with an iron fist and I’ve always let her. “I haven’t heard from you.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s been two days since we last actually talked. And I texted you yesterday morning.”
She makes a dismissive noise, one I’ve heard many times before. “You check in with me every single day, mija. You know that’s part of the rules.”
More eye rolling. She treats me like I’m a little kid instead of a grown ass woman, which is what I happen to be at the ripe old age of just turned twenty-one. “Sorry Mama.”
“Humph. I hear the sarcasm in your voice. I know you think it’s foolish to have to check in with me but you’re all alone out there in a strange neighborhood. Away from me for the first time in your life.” She throws in a sniff for good measure, like she might be crying.
Yeah, right.
“A gated neighborhood,” I stress. “Full of rich people who don’t care about me. I’m invisible around here.” Which I have been—with the exception of a certain next door neighbor who’s been spying on me.
“One of their rich sons would care if he got a good look at you!” She’s a mind reader. “My pretty girl all alone out there with them and no one to defend you. I know what they’re like. I’ve worked in enough houses over the years to see how those boys behave. Just like their no good fathers!”
I think of my GQ boy. Mama would probably lump him in with the rest of the perverted, no good sons of their rich, no good fathers. He was nice. Disgustingly attractive. And I liked the way he looked at me. Though my mother probably wouldn’t.
“I’m not out flirting with rich boys,” I reassure her, which is mostly true. The rich boy flirted with me. “I stick around the house most of the day and swim. Lay out by the pool and read.” Put on a show for the neighbor.
“Sounds boring.”
“You just said you wanted to keep me safe,” I point out. “I don’t go out much and put myself at risk. Isn’t that being safe?”
“There’s safe and then there’s boring, Lucy. And you’re definitely venturing into the boring category.” She pauses, letting me fume for a few seconds before she continues. “You should go out to the beach! Take up a craft! Are there some summer courses you can take at the university?”
“Mama!” I cut her off, checking the time. I need to go. Figure out what I’m going to wear before my date shows up. “I’m taking the summer off from school, remember? And I’m earning a lot of money now so I can have plenty when the fall semester starts.”
I’m on my own from now on. After three years at the community college close to my home, I’m transferring to Santa Augustina State University as a junior. Two more years of intense studying, maybe three, and then I’m done, with a bachelor’s degree in hand and hopefully a solid career in my future.
I’ve earned a couple of scholarships and saved some money. I don’t want to take a student loan but I might have to. This is why I took on the house sitting job. It’s an insane amount of money for minimal work.
Mama sighs. “I don’t like you being so far away. It makes me think irrational thoughts.”
“And makes you say irrational, conflicting things,” I add. “I need to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”
“Where are you going at this time of night?” Mama asks shrilly.
“It’s not even nine o’clock. And I’m not going anywhere.” Oh, crap. I can’t tell her about Gabe coming over. “I’m uh, having a friend over.” Whoops, I just told her about Gabe coming over.
“Who is this friend? And how did you suddenly gain a social life when you just said you spend all your time inside that big fancy house?”
“Um, her name is…Gabby.” Oh, look at me. Lying to my mother. Calling him Gabby, what a joke. “She’s staying next door for the summer with her family.”
“And how old is this rich girl? Don’t let her make you feel like you’re below her, mija.” She means well when she says these sorts of things but half the time they hurt. I don’t think like she does, like everyone looks down their noses at us. But she says a few things and boom I’m worried. Self-conscious.
I don’t like it.
“She’s around my age.” I have no clue how old Mr. GQ is. I’d guess early twenties like me. “And she’s really nice. I know she won’t make me feel like the maid or anything like that.”
“Good because if she found out you are the maid…”