by Bo Reid
Jinx’ing Your Future
A Jinx Family Novella — 1
Bo Reid
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Bo Reid
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by: Bo Reid
Formatting by: Bo Reid
Editing by: Chanderella’s Editing Service
Created with Vellum
Dedication
For everyone that has ever had “one of those days/weeks/months/years” I promise it gets better.
Contents
A Note To Readers
1. Sunday the 8th
2. Flounder
3. Monday the 9th
Malcom Mayweather
4. Karma Koffee
5. Tuesday the 10th
6. Wednesday the 11th
7. Downpour
Malcolm
8. Thursday the 12th
Malcom
News Report
9. Friday the 13th
Jinx’ing Your Future
Fun Facts:
Acknowledgments
Further Acknowlegdements
About the Author
Also by Bo Reid
Blurb
Growing up a Jinx is no cakewalk.
Serendipity Jinx is determined to make it on her own, but when her hours at work get cut, her car breaks down, she doesn't have a penny to her name, and the rent is due in a week, she's at her wit's end. As the saying goes, anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. But Serendipity is determined to figure a way out of her predicament.
Can she last the week with the support of her family and the help of a sexy stranger? Or will Serendipity get jinx'd on the most cursed day of the year?
A Note To Readers
Jinx’ing Your Future is novella one of The Jinx Family Novella series will have a new surprise book released every Friday the 13th. The characters will overlap, the stories will all tie in together, and these will follow many members of the Jinx family, so to get the whole Jinx family picture, it is recommended that you read them in order of publication. If a cover is black it means it is part one of that character's story (like this one) if it is white, it means it is part two of that characters story and you need to read their part one first!
Sunday the 8th
"Did you find everything you were looking for?" the teenage clerk asks me as he rings up my dinner rolls — the generic kind, because I can't afford the Sweet Hawaiian ones.
"Yeah, I did, thanks," I respond. I watch the little computer add up the tax and pray that the total isn't more than the change I have in my wallet.
$6.27
Reaching into my wallet, I pull out four, one-dollar bills and four quarters. I carefully set them on the counter so that the change doesn't roll away. Digging into my change pouch, I manage to find twelve dimes, a nickel, and two pennies. I hand over my money to the cashier, who begrudgingly sets out to count my change.
"Sorry, just, uh, trying to clean out the old change pouch," I lie. It's actually because this is all the money I have. He finishes counting my change, then hands me my rolls and receipt, blankly telling me to have a good night. Turning from the small register, I head into the darkened parking lot to my car. I toss the rolls into the passenger seat as I slide behind the steering wheel. Roughly jamming my key into the ignition, I send up a silent prayer that my car will start.
Old Betsy gives a few huffs of displeasure, but starts up nonetheless.
"Good girl," I tell her, giving the dash a small pat of approval. A moment later, I'm shifting her into gear and pulling out of the parking lot.
It's almost time for Sunday night dinner at my parents' house. Don't get me wrong, I adore my parents and sister, but it's hard to do this every week while pretending my life is fine. I love our weekly dinners — 6 p.m. on the dot — at my childhood home. Every week, Keshia and I bring a side dish or drinks, Mom makes all the fixings, and Dad barbecues. Good things always happen at Sunday night dinners. Keshia came out at one of these dinners, even bringing her girlfriend to meet the family. They didn't work out in the long run, and it was at another one of these dinners that I comforted my big sister. I told her that people will come into her life for a reason, but they're not always meant to stay.
It was at one of these dinners we found out that Dad's lung cancer was in full remission, and he would live to see many more weekly dinners.
Unfortunately, I don't have anything to share at this weekly dinner. My car is on empty; it's barely running on fumes. My rent is due next Monday, and, since I could hardly buy bread, I don't think I'll have enough pennies to cover it.
Truthfully, I could tell my parents. I could even ask my sister for money. But I just can't. I won't. I have pride, and all that. I wanted to move out. I wanted to make it on my own. I just wasn't counting on my main job cutting my hours. It's been nearly impossible to find another side gig to replace those lost hours. When I have found another part-time gig, they weren’t willing to work around my other side job’s schedule. I can’t give up one for another, that would still leave me with a loss.
I turn into the quiet neighborhood where Keshia and I used to ride our bikes up and down the street with the other kids. The only rule was that we couldn't leave the block, and we had to be inside by the time the streetlights came on.
My old, run-down Honda Civic limps her way to the curb, then promptly dies before I even turn the ignition off.
"At least we made it this far, right, girl?" I ask her, running my hand over the steering wheel lovingly.
"Rest up, we gotta make it back home," I whisper as I grab the rolls from the passenger seat, take a deep breath, and open my door.
"Dip!" I hear Keshia's voice call from the porch. I slap a smile on my lips before turning around to face her.
"Kes!" I yell as she bounds off the porch and across the front lawn.
I make my way around the back of my car just in time for her to throw her arms around my neck and nearly knock me to the ground. Keshia is the bubbly one; she's always smiling, always positive. It's rare that I'm the one to console her, but I do my best to take care of my sister when she needs me.
"Glad you could make it," she huffs as she pulls back from our embrace.
"Like Dad would let me miss it," I laugh.
"And Mom would hang you up by your toes if you tried," Keshia laughs and puts her arm around my shoulder.
"God, why do you still drive this clunker?" Keshia asks, giving Old Betsy a kick to her back bumper.
"Hey, leave her alone! She's a good car," I say and lovingly pat the back window. If Betsy hears this trash talk, she might decide not to start when I leave, and then I'll be in for it with the family. They’ll instantly jump into “fix it” mode: Mom will hand over the keys to her car and let me take it home and Dad would step in and take over to solve all my problems. They will spend both their time and hard-earned money to make my life easier. They do it lovingly, and with the best of intentions, but I can’t allow them to baby me forever.
They act like it's a crime that I want to make it on my own, judging by the way they push their help on me. I appreciate how wonderful they are; I have a lot more support than most people get. But my parents and sister don't have much extra — time, or money — to be throwing around to help me. They would go without to ensure that I don’t have to.
Dad would take me to the used car lot and find something suitable for me to drive. Something that would start each time I get behind the wheel without prayers or crossed fingers. For the last two
years, they've been saving up for their first solo vacation. I can't let them use that money to help me.
Keshia would offer me her extra room without missing a beat. She’d claim to charge me half the rent, but I bet she wouldn't tell me the real price, and I’d barely pay a quarter of it. If I questioned her, she’d shrug and say that she'd rather have my company than my money.
My family is the best of the best, but I just can't let them give away their hard-earned anything to pay my bills. I want to look back on these struggles and feel the accomplishment of doing it all on my own.
"Come on, Mom's waiting," Keshia says, pulling me along toward the front steps.
"Hey, whatever happened to that date from last week?" I ask as we clomp up the steps. The best way to not have to talk about me is to always ask questions about them. It's a great distraction technique I’ve perfected over the years.
"She was nice, and we had a good time. We went to a mini-golf course, then walked around the pier. There was just no spark, ya know?" she sighs. I nod.
"Yeah, I getcha."
"I really wanted to like her. Honestly, she was so great — perfect in every way, there just wasn't that thing."
"Maybe you just need to give it another shot. Not everything has to immediately click like a romance novel," I tease and bump my shoulder into Keshia's.
"I know that, Goober, I just want something more. We're going to get together for coffee next week, and we'll see. Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on the whole dating aspect thing. Maybe coffee will be more relaxing."
"If nothing else, you guys can be friends. There’s nothing wrong with making new friends," I suggest as we walk into the kitchen and I set my rolls down on the counter. I turn to switch on the oven broiler and pull out a cookie sheet to heat up the rolls.
"True. I think you’d like her too. Maybe we could arrange a dinner or coffee or something, and you guys can meet," Keshia suggests. I try not to cringe.
That is so not happening. I’d love to meet this girl. But I could barely afford discounted dinner rolls, let alone dinner, coffee, or "something."
"Yeah, totally," I lie. I turn my back to my sister and put the rolls under the broiler.
"There you are! Goodness, I was getting so worried!" Mom fusses as she steps into the kitchen.
"Mom, I'm ten minutes early. You don't need to worry," I tell her as she steps around the small center island and wraps me up in a hug.
"You’re so skinny. Are you eating okay?" Mom whispers. I fight not to roll my eyes.
"Yes, Mother," I reply, sarcastically.
"Don't you give me that sass, Serendipity Jinx. I am your mother; I’m entitled to worry about my baby," she huffs.
"There's my little girl!" Dad's booming voice carries in from the open back door as he steps inside with a plate of perfectly cooked T-Bone steaks. My mouth starts watering.
The truth is, I live off of thirty-five cent ramen noodles during the week. The best meals I get are Sunday dinners. If I work the dinner shift at the coffee shop, I can sometimes snag a sandwich to eat on break. And I go on dates for free food — yes, I know I'm a horrible person — a girl’s gotta eat, man.
"Hey, Dad," I greet him with a grin. He sets the plate of meat down and wraps his large solid arms around me, lifting me up off the floor. He sets me back down with a kiss to my temple and a smile on his face.
"Who's hungry?" he asks.
Keshia and I shoot our hands up as if we were little kids and declare, "Me!"
We sit down to eat, passing around the plates of food: rolls, steaks, pasta, and salad. Mom tops off our glasses with white wine, and Dad sets down his trusty crystal tumbler of bourbon.
“Okay, who wants to go first?” Mom asks once we’re all settled with plenty to eat.
“I will,” Keshia says with a smile as she sets her fork down. “This week, I’m thankful for Dip,” she smiles at me. I smirk back. “You’ve always been my built-in best friend. I know I can call you no matter what, and you’ll always have my back. There are a lot of people in my life who have come and gone, but you’ve always been right by my side. So, I’m thankful for you, and for this family.”
“That was really lovely, Keshia.” Mom nods her approval.
“This week, I’m thankful for all my girls,” Dad says. It’s the same thing he says each and every week.
“And this damn good steak.” He punctuates this statement by shoving another bite into his mouth and chewing contentedly. Mom rolls her eyes, but I see the smile pulling at her lips.
I hope to be lucky enough one day to find someone who loves me the way my parents love each other — thirty-five years in and still going strong.
“Seren?” Mom asks, and all eyes turn to me.
“This week, I’m thankful for Old Betsy.” Keshia rolls her eyes, and Dad stifles a laugh.
“She might be old, and a little worn down, but she still gets me where I need to go each day. That’s a lot more than some people have.”
“That’s lovely, Seren. We should all learn to appreciate the little things when we can,” Mom says and gives me a smile.
“This week, I’m thankful that, after two years of hard work to save every penny, we were finally able to book ourselves a vacation,” Mom says, trying and failing to hide the slight squeal of excitement.
“That’s amazing, Mom!” I lean across the table to give her a hug. Keshia and Dad fist bump.
“Thanks baby, we’re very excited.”
“When do you leave? Where are you going?” Keshia asks.
“We leave in four weeks, we’ll be gone for two, and we’re going to a resort in Bali!” Mom lets out a full-on a squeal, and I can’t help but smile.
I look over at Dad to check his level of enthusiasm. He has a small smile on his lips, and he’s looking at our Mom with pride and love. He isn’t a resort-in-Bali kind of guy; he’s more a hunting-cabin-in-the-woods kind of man. But that’s part of what love is for them: taking the vacation his wife wants because it makes her happy.
This is why I won’t mention that I’m struggling. I can’t be the reason Mom and Dad don’t get to take this trip, and I would be if I even start to let on that I need help. So, I’ll savor this steak, soak up this time with my family, and pray I can scrape up enough money to make my rent on Monday.
Flounder
I don't mean to complain, and I don't want to be one of those “woe is me” people. Everyone knows someone like this. They always have something to complain about. Even when their world is sunshine and rainbows, they’re still moping under a stormcloud. They bring the people around them down with their fucking soul-sapping negative energy. Yeah, I definitely don't want to be that person.
But, fuck, man. Why is life so hard?
I used to have all these hopes and dreams. I thought I’d make something of myself. I just didn't have a fucking clue what I wanted to do with myself. Still don't. I have no career goals, no life goals. I have no direction.
There are two kinds of people: first is the self-aware person. They know who they want to be, they know what they want to do, and they spend their whole life mapping out the perfect way to get there. They have checklists, goals, and plans. Keshia is this type of person.
The second type of person is what I like to call the flounderer. I'm a flounderer. We don't know what we want to do for the rest of our lives, because we want to do so many things. I like to explore new things. I want to travel, I want to be creative, I want to keep learning and growing. I don't want to think I love something, only to realize in ten years that I wasted my life. This is why I temp at so many different places — I want to try everything at least once. Unfortunately, like a flounder, I don't have a checklist, I don't have goals other than to be able to eat and make it on my own, and I certainly don't have a fucking plan.
Even if I did have a plan, I feel like I would always be changing my layout, tweaking things to make it fit whatever it is I want at the moment. What if I make a checklist, I set goals, and I iron
out a plan, only to realize I don't want the list, I don't like my goals, and my plan fucking blows?
I'm so paralyzed with the fear of committing to something that I'll end up hating that I won't commit to anything at all. That's no way to live. At the end of the day, being an adult isn't doing what I want to do all the time. It's figuring out what I have to do and then putting my head down and doing it.
But what if it didn't have to be that way? What if I could be a high-powered CEO and paint on the weekends? What if I could be a lawyer, and also be in a rock band? What if I got to have more than one love, more than one calling? What happens to the people that want it all, but settle for what they can get?
I don't want to settle.
But I also want to be able to pay my rent and keep my lights on.
At some point, I might have to grow the fuck up, put my big girl panties on, and handle my shit.
Monday the 9th
"Miss Jinx, this is Frank from Trans-collect Energy Service. I'm calling to inform you that your bill is past due. We have been trying to get in contact with you, and have been unsuccessful. We need you to give us a call back at 324-555-8237, to work out a payment plan. If we don't hear from you soon, we will be forced to turn your power off. Then you'll need to pay a deposit before we can turn it back on. Miss Jinx, I assure you, we do not want to go down that route. Please call us so we can get a payment plan set up."
