“Sorry, Dad. Rant over. I don’t like your brother.” I took out my parka from the closet, shrugged it on, and grabbed my purse. “Time for my shift at the coffee shop. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Are you sleeping over at Tala’s?”
“No, but I’ll come in late. Don’t wait up for me.”
“I always wait up for you.”
The couch in our living room was my dad’s bed. There were only two bedrooms in our tiny house, and he refused to sleep in the same room with Dylan. My brother snored like a freight train.
“Don’t forget to turn off the TV. Don’t you dare wash the dishes. It’s Dylan’s turn. Flo is coming by to pick up the couch I refurbished. She owes me two fifty for that. Make sure you count, Dad. I’ve been working on that for two months during my spare time.”
“I’ll write it on my body so I don’t forget. Anything else, ma’am? I think I still have room on my back to write on.”
I laughed. “Don’t forget to call Mrs. Chung.”
“Will do. Have fun tonight. Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you, Dad.”
* * *
T: Wanna Netflix and chill?
I laughed as I read Tala’s text.
K: As long as you keep your hands to yourself, we won’t have a problem.
T: Why? You do know I only want you for your body, right?
K: Yeah, but you never pay tho. This shit’s not for free yo.
K: P.S. I’m a block away. Get the milkshakes ready!
T: You’re such a gold digger. See you soon xoxo
I tucked my phone in my parka, pushed the door open, and stepped out of the coffee shop.
I’d just finished my four-hour shift and was seriously thinking of walking to her house instead of driving there to save gas money.
It was three blocks away.
I disliked any form of exercise that didn’t involve earning money by the hour.
Well, there were always exceptions.
Although I wished I could get paid for breathing.
Wouldn’t that make things easier?
I needed to double super save now—more than ever before—just in case my blackmailer proved to be a diva and asked me to drive him all the way to Timbuk-fucking-tu.
It was necessary to talk to him about his terms—and mine—and get all of it in writing. You can’t fully trust people nowadays. Especially someone as slick as he was.
I gripped my phone in my pocket.
There had been no text, no call—nothing, nada, zilch—from him.
I’d been looking at my phone on and off at work to the point of getting the stink eye from my manager, Ramandeep. Couldn’t blame her, really.
It was driving me batshit crazy.
When did he want me to pick him up? How often? Where?
I’ll let you know.
What did he mean by that? Did he already have something in mind, or was his computer brain still processing it?
For him, it was all about who had the upper hand. I would show him who had the upper hand. But first, I had to make him think I was following the rules.
Thinking about him made me hungry for food. And when I was hungry, I was grumpy.
Vlad said it would only take two weeks—three tops—for the parts to arrive and be installed before his motorcycle would be done. Then I’d be free.
Can’t wait! It was my mission in life now.
I turned the corner, spotting Tala’s house. It was an architectural beauty of stone and wood, with two tall pillars on the front porch.
It would’ve been better if it wasn’t painted the color of fresh salmon, and it could definitely go without the puke-green trim.
It needed flowers, I thought, pressing the doorbell. Colorful, fat blooms on the porch, a couple of rocking chairs, traditional lanterns in bronze on each side of the door, repaint it a gorgeous shade of white and soft gray for the trim, and voilà! Instant curb appeal.
“Kara, honey, come in.” Mrs. Bautista swiveled her wheelchair back as I stepped inside.
“These are for you, Mrs. B.” I handed her a box of her favorite donuts from the coffee shop, noting the dark circles under her eyes. Her black hair was pulled in a tight bun, accentuating the sharp angles of her thin face. Her clothes hung loosely on her body. “How are you feeling today?”
“My arm’s bothering me a little bit, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Tala’s in the kitchen.”
“Over here, pimp!” Tala called out.
“Tala didn’t give you a massage today, did she?” I asked Mrs. B. “That lazy ass. Let’s give you one in a few. Get the blood flowing a bit, huh?”
She looked haggard today. She patted my hand and smiled. “You spoil me every time you come here.”
My mother had left me, but a few women had taken her place.
Mrs. B was one of them.
“I do this for a living,” I said, referring to one of my many jobs.
I had just quit my full-time position at the nursing home because it conflicted with my class schedule, but I told my manager that I’d like to be kept on as part-time. I also picked up shifts at a hospital if they phoned, which wasn’t often. Full-time positions were limited, so it wasn’t unusual for a healthcare worker to work in more than one institution.
“I got mad skills. Mad massaging skills.”
I pushed Mrs. B’s wheelchair to the kitchen, appreciating the delicious scent of Filipino food. Tala was at the stove, transferring food from a pot to a big bowl.
“Ma made pancit.”
Due to an accident, Mrs. B had lost both her legs. She had full range of motion in her arms, but her left one bothered her quite a bit.
“Sit down, Kara. Tal, give her a plate.”
“I won’t say no. I’m starving.”
“I made a vegetarian version just for you. Tal, pack some food for her dad and brother before she leaves.”
“Why don’t we just give her the fridge?” Tala asked.
“Your pantry too.” I gestured my fork at Tala before taking a huge bite. Damn, this was good noodles.
“Want some rice with that?”
I looked at her plate, which was a mountain of noodles on top of rice.
I shook my head. “Man, aren’t you tired of rice? Even squirrels eat other shit”—I glanced at Mrs. B—“stuff, I meant stuff, Mrs. B—aside from acorns.”
“Girl, don’t you be throwing shade at my rice. I’d rather die than not eat rice. See, I know you’re half Asian—Filipino and Chinese, right? But the problem is that your Asian soul never settled in your corporeal form. You’re a fake Asian. Whatever. If you don’t grasp my love affair with rice, you’re a hopeless Asian.”
“That’s because I’m part Spanish, Italian, French, and German too. I’m a mongrel. A mix. A kaleidoscope of everything unicorn-y.”
“Guess what? I wish I’m a magical unicorn with wings. That way I could flap away from your bullshit.”
“You love my bullshit. That’s the truth.”
“Let me tell you the truth. I can eat meat the size of my finger, but my serving of rice has to be the size of my head.”
“That’s why she can’t lose weight,” her mom said. “She keeps on eating rice. I told her just one cup every meal. Then eat one cup a day as soon as she gets used to it, but she wouldn’t listen. Talk to your friend, Kara.”
“Mrs. B,” I said in a strict voice. I looked at her directly, then I pointed at my ass. “Do you know how hard I wish I got her curves? Look at these babies.” I shook my tits. “Look at hers. I wouldn’t change a thing about her body.”
“You look like a model, Kara.”
“Why, thank you, Mrs. B. I do love how clothes look on me. That’s why I have a love affair with them. Naked is a dif
ferent story.”
Tala laughed and started cleaning up.
“Don’t clean up while Kara is still eating. You know what they say when you clean up while a single woman is eating.”
“What do they say, Mrs. B?”
She knocked on wood. “You won’t be able to marry.”
If the image of my gorgeous-as-sin blackmailer’s face came to mind at the word marry, I told myself it didn’t mean anything. “Good! I’m finished anyway.” I got up and brought my plate to the sink. “I’d just be a butterfly, hopping from one flower to the next.”
“Until someone catches you and breaks off your wings,” Tala interjected.
“Whoa, whoa. Such bitterness. What’s wrong with you?” I wanted to talk to her about Cameron, but it could wait until we were alone.
Tala didn’t talk until we were in her room, after I’d helped Mrs. B use the commode, settled her on the bed, gave her a bed bath and a massage, and turned on the TV so she could watch her Filipino soaps. She was settled in for the night.
I could do this in my sleep. When I was working at the nursing home, I had to get eight patients washed and ready before breakfast. In other nursing homes I worked at or the hospital, it was more. And night shifts could easily triple that number.
But today had been a long day, and I was starting to feel it.
“Thanks for coming today. Her worker called in sick. She didn’t want a different one to come in.”
“Anytime. She looks exhausted.”
“She’s almost always depressed. She wants to go home.”
Home meant the Philippines.
“So why don’t you take her on a vacation? On Christmas break. You’d get two weeks.”
“No, Kar,” she said in a grave voice. “She wants to go home. Permanently.”
My heart fell to my stomach. “What?”
“Maybe it’s the depression that’s talking. I don’t know.”
“If she goes, you go too, right?”
“Let’s not talk about it. There’s no point in stressing over it right now.”
“No, let’s talk about it now.”
“No. Let’s really not. But…” She sighed. “I don’t know how to make her happy anymore. I’m doing everything she wants. I’m taking business, just like she wants. She can’t wait until I graduate, so I can take over our stores in the Philippines. But…”
“It’s not what you want.”
She looked at me helplessly. “That’s the thing, Kar. I’ve been following my mom’s plan for so long, I don’t even know what I want anymore.”
She plopped on her bed and turned on the TV. She shook her head at me, a sign that she really didn’t want to talk about it, and patted the space beside her. I sighed and lay down beside her. I wanted to talk to her about my blackmailer, but the timing was off. She had so much on her plate that I didn’t want to burden her more with my problems. We watched one of her shows for a while before I said goodbye.
It was still early when I got home, still preoccupied with my conversation with Tala. Ever since Mrs. B’s mother passed away a year ago, Mrs. B’s health had declined. If she wanted to move, it wouldn’t be a problem for them financially. Tal’s family was loaded.
What I couldn’t get out of my mind was the helpless anguish in Tala’s eyes.
The back porch light turned on as I looked for my house keys in my purse. Tired to the bone, I prepared myself to have a hard time opening the door, but it opened easily. Dad must have repaired it already.
The house was ancient, and the wooden door became swollen from moisture. Dad had to trim it. It should’ve been replaced, but doors were pretty expensive.
I heard the sounds of the TV before I pushed it open.
“Hey, Kara Koala, you’re early. How was your girl night?” His smile turned into a frown when he saw me. “What’s wrong?”
I stored my boots in the closet, dumped my keys in the bowl on the console table, hung my purse on the hook, and walked to the kitchen to get something to drink. The light from the fridge made a yellow slash on the floor.
“I think Tal’s mom wants to go back to the Philippines for good.”
He sat up from the couch and muted the TV. “Hmm.”
My dad knew me enough not to say anything. To give me time to formulate my thoughts. The more people demanded what I was thinking or feeling, the more closed off I got.
I took my time, storing the Tupperware filled with pancit that Tala gave me in the fridge, boiling water, cutting up lemon wedges to make honey lemon tea for me and my dad.
I handed him the cup and sat beside him. We watched TV for a while. I was lost in my thoughts, and I didn’t realize there was no sound from the TV until I heard my dad sipping his tea.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“You never asked me to be anything,” I said quietly, staring intently at my cup. “You never told me what you want me to become.”
He took another sip. Sighed deeply. “That’s because you already are what I want you to be.”
I felt the threat of tears.
“You know what your favorite sentence was when you were a kid?”
I sniffed. “Gimme food?”
He chuckled. “You eat like me, but we never gain weight, do we? I got supreme genes, I tell you.”
I nodded. “That you have, Mr. Hawthorne. That you have.”
The light from the TV was playing on my dad’s features when I looked up at him.
“Your favorite sentence was I can do it.” He laughed as if remembering a funny memory.
“I don’t know if you remember, but you were five years old, and you were watching me wash the dishes. All of a sudden you tugged at my shirt and said, ‘Dad, I wanna do it.’ I remember how big the plate looked in your hands and I thought you were going to drop it. I tried to take it from you, but you got mad and said—”
“No, I can do it.”
He smiled warmly, nodded. “Same thing when you were tying your shoes, picking out your outfit. You wanted to do it all by yourself. Those moments made me realize how strong and independent you are. It’s very hard for a parent to step back, watch his kid struggle. But I’d learned that protecting you too much wasn’t doing you any good.”
He looked down for a moment. “One day,” he continued, “I’ll be gone, and I want you to be strong when that time comes. Before that happens, you have to learn how to handle pain. When you’re sick, when you’re sad, when people hurt you. If it hurts you, it hurts me more. How can it not? You’re my life.”
“Dad.” I sniffled. I couldn’t bear the thought of him gone.
“When your ma left, I was terrified. How the hell was I going to do this alone? I know I’m not perfect. And I’m lacking so many things. But then I look at you. And I know I did something good on this earth. And that’s all I need. That’s all I need, my baby girl.”
I stayed with my dad for another half hour after that, trying not to cry, sipping on my honey lemon tea, watching TV. When I collapsed in bed, my body was exhausted, but my mind was buzzing with everything that had happened that day.
Everyone was trying to control someone’s life in some way. It didn’t matter whether they had good intentions or bad.
Andrew, the joke of the jungle, trying to suck the life out of everything as usual.
Mrs. B’s depressive state and her need to control Tala’s life.
Tala’s helplessness and anguish. She might move away soon. She was going to leave me. I tried not to think about that.
And last but certainly not least, my blackmailer, the right-hand man of Satan. Leaving me little choice but to be his chauffeur ninja. Be at his beck and call. Like a circus monkey.
I’m a strong woman who takes control of her life. I can’t control what others do around me, but I can control my reaction.
&nb
sp; And my reaction is to go to my blackmailer’s house right now and demand what the hell he wants. The terms and conditions. Make a contract. Take back control.
I sprang up in bed. Cracked my knuckles. Stretched my neck.
I’m ready.
Chapter 10
Cameron
“Thanks, man.”
I hopped out of Caleb’s truck, slamming the door closed. He gave me a salute before driving away.
It was dark by the time we’d finished at the site. The guys who did overtime with us were going out for beer, and Caleb with them, but I wasn’t in the mood to socialize.
I’d told Caleb I’d take a cab, but he wouldn’t hear it. It was easier to agree than argue with the guy.
I walked up my driveway, thinking I’d give up a limb for a shower right now. Ice-cold beer too. I just preferred drinking it after the hot shower. And having no one flapping their lips at me, especially when I was this exhausted from a reno.
The porch light flashed as I walked closer to the front door, then I stopped.
I smiled as I spotted something in front of the fence. It was a fake wood stump. The one she’d used last night to boost herself up and climb the fence.
I walked to it, my muscles screaming at me to take that hot shower as I crouched down to pick it up.
Where the hell did she get it from? Did she bring it with her?
I chuckled as I pictured her carting this thing from her car. She was resourceful if anything. I tossed it to the other side of my fence.
I was keeping it.
Why was she trying to climb over my fence anyway? I wondered as I opened my front door. I took off my boots, so I wouldn’t get dried mud on the floor, stored them in the mudroom. I’d clean them tomorrow.
I doubted she was trying to steal from me. I stripped off my dirty clothes, threw them in the washer, pressed the right settings. Then I hopped in the shower and programmed the right temperature and pressure.
Closing my eyes, I groaned in relief as the hot water cascaded down my body, washing away the dirt and muck.
I’d ask her why she was trying to get in my house next time I saw her. Which would definitely be on Monday. There was a whole day of not seeing her tomorrow.
Spitfire in Love Page 8
