Five
It’s five days later, and I’m tearing open my first paycheck.
“Careful there,” says Tom. “You don’t wanna rip the actual check.” He walks away, though, and leaves me alone next to my employee locker. My shift is over, so I’m heading home.
I unfold it and finally look at the amount.
$639.78
For two weeks of work. Damn. Plus I have to pay my mom some rent or something. Looks like it’s gonna be a few weeks before I can move out.
I don’t know how much money it takes to move in somewhere, but I know you gotta pay a deposit first then rent and bills. Food and gas. Dishes and crap. Furniture. I guess I can just take what’s in my room at first, but eventually I’ll need to buy more stuff. A couch and table and stuff.
I’ll probably need a couple thousand dollars.
I sigh. I never expected this to be easy. I just didn’t expect it to be this difficult.
The next several weeks are hell.
I don’t know if my parents have been fighting this bad since I got locked up or if somehow me moving back home is what’s causing it, but ever since that initial fight, they fight almost every night.
I start to wonder why they just don’t get a divorce or something. But last I checked, the house is in my dad’s name, and my mom’s not about to move out.
They fight about her credit cards, his auto shop and how it’s not bringing in as much profit as before, but mostly, they fight about me.
She blames my dad for letting me grow up in such a bad neighborhood. He says that’s all they can afford, especially when she spends the way she does.
She blames him for never giving her everything she deserves.
And I just stay in my room, like I always did when I was a kid. Listening to them fight. Trying to think of something else. Anything else. Except everything in my life is a mess. I need a new start.
Eight weeks later, I finally have enough. I’ve been working some overtime at the auto parts store and saving as much as I can after paying rent.
I count out the bills one more time in my hand.
Almost two thousand dollars. Enough to get a cheap apartment downtown and start buying some used furniture.
I haven’t really seen Marcos or anyone else since I started working, but I’ve let them know I’m in the market for some couches and a kitchen table.
I have an appointment in an hour to look at an apartment near where I work. It’s less than ten minutes away, and from what I’ve seen of the pictures online, it’s halfway decent, especially for the price.
I set aside enough for the rent and several hundred dollars more for a deposit. I tuck the rest away under my mattress. I know it’s a dumb place to hide money, but with any luck, I won’t be here much longer.
I look around. I won’t be surrounded by the past anymore. Or by my mom. I’ll finally be able to start fresh and make my own life.
“So it’s $670 a month on the first. Electricity is separate, but there’s a $25 fee added onto your rent for the water,” the apartment lady says.
She unlocks the front door of the apartment, and we walk in. I glance down the hallway. Seems quiet enough, even if they’re not that new.
There’s a weird stain on the wall when we go in.
“We’ll take care of that. We’re having painters come in tomorrow morning to give the apartment a nice little polish for you, if you decide you’d like to move in.”
I nod. That would be nice. So you have carpet in the living room here,” she says indicating ahead of her.
I think it’s about as small as my bedroom right now, which is saying a lot.
“Over here, we got the kitchen. Perfect size for a student like you. Very easy to clean and maintain due to its size.”
She’s right. I’m not a student, but she has a point about the kitchen. It’s a good thing it’s only gonna be me because the kitchen pretty much only fits one person. The appliances are old, the creamy small kind you see in old movies.
But hey, if it works. Gotta start somewhere, I guess.
I walk in and pull open the fridge. It’s clean and empty inside, even if I am taller than it.
“And the unit comes with a dishwasher.”
Just as old, I see.
“And lots of cabinet space.”
Enough, anyway.
I walk into the living room. The carpet’s old and faded, but maybe I could give it a wash. There’s a sliding glass door that opens into a tiny deck. We’re on the third floor, so I want to see the view.
It looks out into the parking lot. But to the right, there’s a nice enough view.
“The patio’s perfect for hosting a small get together with a friend or two.”
I nod and try not to smile. Maybe one very skinny friend.
I think about that. I can’t remember the last time I genuinely smiled, so I actually let myself smile out of her view.
Gotta give the lady credit for that at least.
I go back in, and we walk to the master bedroom. Actually, the only bedroom.
Uh, it could be worse. It’s slightly smaller than my current bedroom, but I think about what I’m getting in return. This entire apartment to myself.
No more nagging or snide comments from my mom. Peace. A chance to make my own life.
“And over here’s the closet. Small, but you can definitely make it work. There are already some shelves—“
“I’ll take it,” I interrupt.
I found a couple of couches, a kitchen table and chairs, and several other things just a couple of days ago on Craiglist. Some old lady is retiring and moving in with her daughter in Florida, and she wants to get rid of all of her stuff.
I drive into the subdivision and drive around until I find the right mailbox. It’s a really nice neighborhood one town over.
I get out of my dad’s truck and take the keys with me. I walk up the driveway and knock on her front door.
An old white lady, about a foot shorter than me, opens the door.
“You must be Carlos. We spoke on the phone. Come in.” I swear she’s the stereotypical old white lady you see on TV.
“Thank you,” I say wiping my shoes off on the mat. She leaves the door open for me and shows me inside. I close it quietly behind us. Her house is already mostly empty. No more family pictures on the wall or anything.
“This is the breakfast table I was telling you about. It’s very well taken care of.”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s nice.”
“And over here,” she says, leading me into a bedroom. “Are the two couches. This used to be my son’s room. Well, more of a lounge.” Doesn’t look like a bedroom. There’s a flat screen TV with a sold sticker on it, some bookshelves, weights, and the couches.
“You said you’re moving into an apartment?”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Maybe you could use a small shelf like this one for your living room.”
I nod. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I’ll throw it in, if you like. It’s the last one, and it needs to go to a new home.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling really awkward.
She takes a couple of steps towards the couches. “What do you think of the couches?”
They’re navy blue and are a little worn, but they look comfortable. I sit on one of them, testing the cushion.
“They’re good,” I say looking up. “I’ll take these and the kitchen table.”
“And the shelf,” she reminds me.
“And the shelf,” I say following her out.
I get everything loaded into the truck. She gets her neighbor to help me with the couches, but the table and shelf are easy enough.
It’s my lucky day for once in a my life. It’s not a bad deal, and her furniture is kinda nice.
“Four hundred dollars. Here you go,” I say, pulling out a wad of cash.
She takes it and counts it. And then pauses. She takes my hand and places half of the money back in my palm.
I’m surprised and try to give it back to her, but she shoves it in my hand.
“I insist,” she said, her small wrinkled hand still covering my own. “Something’s just telling me you should keep this.”
She gives me a smile, and I’m dumbfounded. We’re complete strangers. She has no reason to be nice to me. I could be a murderer or something. I push that thought out of my mind.
“And keep your head up.” She gives me a smile before walking back into her house, and I’m left with a truck full of furniture.
Six
I load the last bag of my stuff into my dad’s truck the next day. He’s letting me borrow it again today to move out.
I take a couple of steps back and look at everything. I look back at the house.
This is my last and final trip. All my furniture is already waiting at my apartment.
My apartment. I give a small smile.
This is it. My new start away from everyone and everything. Away from the past.
If I keep working some overtime every week, I can definitely get by.
I hear the front door open and close and the screen door slam shut. I turn around. It’s my mom.
She’s walking down the steps of our tiny porch and walking towards me. I can only guess what she’s about to say.
“Do you have everything?” she says, looking down. So she’s playing that card.
“Yes,” I say, not knowing what else to say. Any other mom would be in tears over her youngest son leaving. Real tears. And telling her son she already misses him. That he’s welcome to come over any time, especially to eat dinner.
But not my mom.
Instead, she’s using this day to guilt trip me.
She sniffles, and a lone tear runs down her cheek.
“I understand that you want to be on your own now, but you don’t have to make me feel like a horrible mother about it,” she starts. Several more tears make their way down her face.
I sigh and turn so she doesn’t see the already frustrated expression on my face. I’d spoken about two words to my mom in the last week, ever since I had said I was moving out for sure.
My dad had tried to talk me out of it and then blamed my mom when I calmly told him I wasn’t gonna change my mind.
“It’s not your fault,” I say. “I just need my own space.”
“You just don’t understand. The sacrifices that I’ve had to make,” she says in Spanish. “Giving up everything so I could raise you and your brother.”
You getting pregnant at my age is my fault how? I want to ask. But I don’t.
“I’m just so unappreciated. By you. Your father. Your brother never visits. Never calls. I mean nothing to this family.”
Another sigh. “You’re not nothing, mom. Of course we appreciate you.”
“Tell your father that,” she says hugging herself and blotting at her tears.
“I promise I’ll visit,” I add. Although I’m sure that’s not what all of this is about.
“And you’ll have to invite us over too, you know.” I notice the waterworks are already drying up. How women do that I do not know. Just cry on demand.
And that’ll be great. Having her over. Making snide comments on how old the apartment is or why I don’t have this or that.
“Okay, mom. Well, I better get going. It’s getting dark, and I still need to unload all of this stuff and get it organized.”
“I should probably get going too. I’m meeting a friend for dinner.”
I wait for her to go back inside before shaking my head. And my dad’ll have dinner by himself again. I need to remember to call him often and see how he is, invite him out to eat when I can so he’s not too lonely. Although that’s what he thrives on.
I make sure everything is secure before getting into the truck and slamming the door shut. Last thing I need is my stuff flying away on the freeway.
As I’m pulling out of the driveway, making sure I remember this moment forever, I see my dad come down the road and pull in. I brake and put the truck in reverse, backing up into the driveway again to tell him I’m leaving. I didn’t expect him back from work this early.
He quickly parks and jogs over to my window.
“You’re done,” he says, slightly out of breath. He’s still in his work uniform. Actually, he’s always in his work uniform.
“Yeah,” I say. “There wasn’t much to get in the truck. Two trips did it. This is the last one.”
He nods. “Let me come with you, and I’ll drive the truck back.”
That works. My car is already at my apartment. He and a friend had dropped off his work truck for me yesterday.
He goes around and gets in, and I put the truck in drive again.
“Did you say goodbye to your mom?” he asks.
“Yeah, she started crying.”
He looks at me, eyebrows raised. I glance between him and road. The sun is setting fast. I have work tomorrow, and I don’t want to be up all night moving around furniture.
“She said we don’t appreciate her.”
My dad scoffs. “Funny how she has a way of turning things around on you, huh?”
I nod. I don't know how he manages to live with my mom. I hadn’t noticed it as much before, but she’s not an easy person to live with.
Maybe it’s because now I can’t stand to put up with one more negative thing in my life.
“Are you sure you can take the rest of this up by yourself?” my dad asks.
“Yeah, it’s all bags of clothes and stuff. I got it. You should head home. You got work tomorrow.”
And he looks pretty tired.
He nods.
“Unless you want to go grab something to eat. Have you eaten?” I ask.
“There’s food at home. Don’t worry.”
“Okay,” I say. We’re standing next to the truck, taking a small break. We already spent over an hour getting the last of the furniture up to the apartment and arranging the big furniture up there. The rest of this stuff in the truck won’t take me long. I pull the last four or five bags of clothes out and hand him the keys.
He purses his lips and looks down. Then he comes in for a quick hug. I pat him on the back as he pulls away.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, dad.”
“And don’t let your mom get to you.”
“I won’t,” I say, stepping onto the curb. He gets in the truck, turns it on, and drives off into the night.
Carrying and moving everything had been a workout so I hadn’t really felt the cold outside until now. And the later it’s gotten, the colder it’s gotten too.
Thanksgiving is only a few days away, I realize, as I grab as many bags as I can to take upstairs. The bags threaten to rip so I leave a couple behind and run upstairs. I don’t think anyone will steal my clothes, but you never know.
A minute later, I run back downstairs, and my bags are still there.
I’m running down the last couple of steps when I hear a car pull in a couple of spots away from the car that’s been there. Two guys are standing next to it chatting and laughing loudly. I guess they’re getting ready to leave. I wonder if they both live here.
I’m picking up the two bags as a girl gets out of the car that just pulled in. She’s carrying a bunch of stuff too. Containers of food and several books in addition to a book bag.
I’m turning around when I hear her stuff hit the pavement. I turn around, my bags still in my fists. The two guys a few cars down are looking at her and laughing. They’re really loud.
The girl’s stuff is all over the pavement of the sidewalk, and she’s bending down to pick everything up. I guess she didn’t want to make a second trip either.
“Hey, girl, you need some help?” one the guys yells. Except he doesn’t sound like he has being helpful in mind.
I put my bags down and walk over.
I kneel down alongside her and start picking up a container of food and most of her books.
She looks up at me and g
ives a tight smile before piling more things into her arms.
“Where do you live?” I ask, and she looks back at me, this time with a highly questioning look on her face.
“I mean so I can help you carry this stuff.” Not to stalk you or anything, I think. God, I sound like an idiot. Six months in jail will definitely make your talking to girls skills a little rusty.
We stand up.
“I live on the third floor.”
I’m about to say that I live on the third floor too, but I don’t want to creep this girl out anymore than I already have. We turn for a second as the car and the two guys who were bothering her are finally leaving.
I can’t decide if she’s white or Hispanic. She looks like she’s both. Maybe she’s mixed. She has brown eyes like most Hispanic girls, but they’re more of a honey brown. Same with her hair and skin. Her hair is long and chocolate brown instead of the typical almost black brown, but what’s got me is her skin. It’s this light caramel color.
This girl gives me another tight smile, and I follow her up the steps. I try not to stare at her ass as we go up the steps, leaving my stuff behind.
We’re at her door before I know it, and she’s unlocking and opening her front door one-handed. Her apartment is only a couple of doors down from mine. She steps in, leaving the door open, and I’m completely unsure if I should go in or wait here. So I wait.
She comes back out a few seconds later.
“Sorry. And thanks.” Another tight smile. Still no real smile. And I notice she doesn’t meet my eyes.
“No problem.” I give her a tight smile of my own before walking away.
I try not to think about how much this girl has intrigued me as I make my way back downstairs for my stuff. But I manage to do just that as I go back upstairs and finish arranging furniture and putting away clothes.
It’s not long before Valerie is my girlfriend. It happens fast, and for her, unexpected.
She’s in half of my classes, and I make sure to sit next to her. She starts laughing at the jokes I make under my breath. Then we’re having conversations every day, and I notice the distinct way she’s smiling at me and leaning towards me while we work in pairs.
Letting Go (Changing Hearts Series Book 3) Page 3
