by Kym Brunner
I’m sure he’s one of those people who only seems really mean, but when you get to know them, they’re actually super nice. But when a smile doesn’t appear on the horizon of his face, I figure he’s not one of them. “Oh, right. Nick was giving me some new employee tips.” I bite my lip, trying not to grimace at the two lumpy skin-colored moles, one on each of Mr. Wardley’s chins. I nervously tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
Nick stands up, smiling. “Yep, just trying to make the new girl feel welcome.”
He shoots Nick a disapproving look. “That’s not your job. Finish stocking these bowls and get on the sales floor.” He strokes his thick walrus mustache with his fingertips, staring at Nick until he does as instructed.
Knowing how I hate when my mom humiliates me in front of customers, I decide to toss an accolade Nick’s way. “If you ever decide to have a Pet World ‘new employee welcoming committee,’ Nick should be your man. He made me feel very welcome.” I smile at Nick, and he grins back at me, a delectable hint of mischief in his eyes.
Wardley ignores my suggestion. “Right this way, young lady.” We turn toward the rodent area of the store. “From now on,” he continues, “you need to report directly to your own department as soon as you punch in.”
“Will do.” As we walk away, I glance over my shoulder at Nick. He rewards me with a charming impression of Mr. Wardley with his cheeks puffed out and his eyes crossed. I grin and discreetly wave good-bye.
We arrive in Rodentville. Wardley yells, “Darcy!”
“Yes?” She peeks from around the corner, a purple plastic scooper in her hand.
He tilts his head toward me. “Please show your trainee what she’s supposed to do.”
“Sure.” She stands up, walks toward me. “Let’s start with the guinea pigs.”
As we walk away, Darcy says, “I’m impressed, princess. Didn’t think you’d show.”
For whatever reason, I feel triumphant for having surprised her. For the next fifteen minutes, Darcy explains exactly what my tasks will be and for which animals I’ll be responsible. “I’ll let you have rats and guinea pigs,” she explains, as if she’s bestowing some wonderful gift to me, “and I’ll handle gerbils, mice, hamsters, and ferrets. They’re a little more tricky.” She mentions The Ratnificent Mile, but says that she’ll train me on that later. I try to block that horrific scene from my mind. Mom says unpleasant tasks always sound worse than they really are, and I’m hoping this is one time she’s right.
She leads me to a row of floor cages, all filled with various sizes and types of guinea pigs. She roots inside the first wire pen, chasing one of the five small furry balls she identifies as Abyssinian cavies. Darcy finally catches a half-brown, half-white guinea pig baby.
“Gotcha!” She places it into a holding cage. “Now you catch the others and then clean out the enclosure.” She goes over the entire cleaning procedure and hands me the scooper, disinfectant, and a bag of new bedding before walking away. And I used to think cleaning crumbs was gross? I want to run away screaming, but my zero balance in my bank account reminds me I need money. Badly.
These smooth-haired babies are so fast I can’t catch one. I finally wise up and pick up the yellow play tube, trapping one inside. I set it down into the holding cage. The four remaining pigs are super quick, so I decide to just dive in and corner one, wondering how Darcy made it look so easy. Success! I hold the solid brown piggie, and he opens his eyes wide in fright. “Don’t worry, little guy. I won’t hurt you.” I lean over to place him in the holding tank, but he squirms out of my hands and leaps to the floor. Oh no!
I lunge for the little runaway, but it scurries under the shelving unit. What now? I look around for Darcy, but she’s off somewhere helping two boys pick out a hamster. I kneel down and place my face near the floor, butt up, and see the guinea pig baby fleeing out the other side, toward the dog supplies. I stand and run to the end of the aisle, heading to the other side when I bump gut-first into Mr. Wardley.
“Whoa!” he says, holding his stomach. “We don’t run on the sales floor, Miss…?”
“Dumbrowski! Sorry, but a guinea pig got loose!”
Wardley shakes his head. “Be more careful. Lost pets mean lost wages—yours.”
“Oh.” I scooch past Wardley and spy the little guy munching on an errant sunflower seed. I tiptoe toward it, but when I’m inches away, it senses my presence and runs off. It zips around the corner, and I chase after it. But after I round the corner, I can’t see the guinea baby anywhere.
I do see a huge Rottweiler.
Chomping on something.
His owner has a thick choke collar in one hand, checking the price, when he yanks his mini-Clydesdale toward him. “Jaeger! Stop pulling!”
I bite my lip as it starts to quiver. I let it get away, and now it’s dead. I’m the worst guinea pig mother that ever lived. A full-blown tear fest rises up in my throat when I hear footsteps. I step behind a book carousel to hide. I’m sure it’s Mr. Wardley coming to check up on the missing rodent. What should I say? I panic, desperate not to get fired from another job.
Seconds later, a friendly voice says, “I heard you lost a pet already.”
I let out my breath, relieved it’s Nick. “Not only lost—eaten!” I point to the Rottweiler.
Nick flicks his bangs out of his eyes, smiling. “Shame, shame. Looks like I’m going to have to report you to PETA. Or worse, to Darcy.” He laughs, the naughty glint in his eyes letting me know that everything about him spells trouble. He leans in close to my ear. “But if you come to Summerfest with me on Saturday night, I might be able to forget all about it.” He pulls back just an inch, waiting for my answer.
With his face so close to mine, I can barely breathe. So, he was flirting with me before. A new reason for my panic sets in. Which guy did Dola send, and what will happen if I choose the wrong one? I need some sort of sign. I look around, half-expecting a dog bone to fall from the aisle with an N or a G on it. When it doesn’t, I say, “Um…can I get back to you next time I work? I need to check my calendar.” I smile, trying not to drool.
“Sure. I hope you’re free because we’ll have a great time together.” He’s so close to me that his breath is warm on my cheek. As he walks away, the blood flows out of my brain, and I feel light-headed. Pulling a book on aquatic turtles out of the rotating bookshelf, I start fanning myself rapidly. Hope I can finish my shift without fainting. That Nick sure knows how to turn on the charm. After returning to the rodent area, however, any sign of dizziness is gone, quickly replaced by a stomachache. Nothing like the smell of guinea pig poo to make a girl’s sweet dreams go sour.
After returning home for a long shower to get rid of the pet store stink, I’m rewarded by a phone call from Giovanni. I lie on my bed in my robe, listening to his sexy deep voice. He’s so fun and polite and sweet that we talk for more than an hour and never run out of things to say. When he finally asks me out for tomorrow night, I raise a fist in celebration, but coyly say, “Sure!”
When I hang up, all I can say is that if Dola sent me Giovanni and Nick as bad luck, I’m going to start walking under a lot more ladders.
Chapter 8
BY THE TIME WEDNESDAY NIGHT rolls around, I’m disgusted with my new job, completely giggly whenever Nick’s around, and totally psyched for tonight’s date with Giovanni. In a moment of weakness, Nick and his beautiful blue eyes lured me into going to Summerfest on Saturday. Now I have major guilt. All my worries about Giovanni being a player—and now it looks like I’m turning into one. Although I’m still not speaking to Teegan, I have to assume that if I were, she’d tell me that dating two brand new guys simultaneously, trying to figure out which is the right one for me, is perfectly fine and does not make me a player.
I look in the mirror and grab the sides of my head. “What the hell are you doing, Dumbrowski? Dating two guys at once? Shame on you!”
I can’t help laughing at my reflection, shaking my shoulders and wiggling my hips in res
ponse to my good fortune. After another long shower to rid me of any remaining pet store stink, I glance at the clock. What? Only twenty minutes until Giovanni will be here to pick me up! How could I have stayed in the shower so long? I curse my laziness, then put on a bra and panties and wrap a towel around my head. I panic. Giovanni will not, under any circumstances, be allowed to come into my house and meet my mother. That could be the end of our beginning.
Time races steadily along, but I can’t seem to move any faster. Makeup, hair, shoes, clothes selection—it all takes time. Dragging my three favorite tops onto my bunched-up bedspread, I linger over my decision. Sexy black tee that’s stretched out, the gray knit with the ripped seam, or the cute red tank with half the sparkles missing? I take a swig from my water bottle, sweaty from having to make these complicated decisions. None of these shirts is special enough. I’ve worn them each a million times, and they’re all pathetic.
The doorbell rings, and I glance at the time. For God’s sake, he’s three minutes early! What kind of guy does that? Is his being early the sign from Dola I was looking for? She obviously knows a prompt guy is definitely not the right one for me. I fluff my hair, hoping everything will become clear tonight. I mean, a guy does have to have some flaws, right? Maybe he can learn to be late.
My mother rushes past my bedroom, the sound of her bare heels thumping against the wood floor. “What crazy person would be ringing the bakery doorbell at this time? Can’t they read our store hours? Five a.m. to one p.m.! Says it right in front of their nose.”
“It’s not a customer, Mom. It’s for me! Whatever you do, don’t answer the door! I’ll be right there!” I leap over the mounds of clothes I’ve already tried on and whip open my dresser drawer, wondering if maybe there’s something better in there that I missed. I sigh. Nothing but rags. As soon as I get my first paycheck, I’m spending the entire thing on clothes.
The doorbell rings again. I run to the window and raise it several inches. A blast of humidity hits my face as I turn my head sideways and yell through the screen, “I’ll be right down, Giovanni! Just one second, okay?” Hopefully he can’t see up to the second story, or he’d see my dingy grayish-white bra and fraying blue thong. If things go well with Giovanni—or with Nick, for that matter—I’ll have to spend a future paycheck solely on sexy lingerie. The thought makes my face heat up. One date at a time, Sophie. Slow down, girl, or you’ll be starring in your own reality show, Pregnant on Her First Date.
I stand there listening for Giovanni to respond when my mother’s shrill voice screeches, “You are Sophie’s Italian boyfriend? Come in! Let’s have a talk.”
Boyfriend? I never called him that! My daymare is coming true. I can’t believe my tardiness might be the death of my first potential summer romance. I slam the window shut as Busia appears at my doorway. “Boy is here for you?” she asks, tilting her head. She’s not smiling, but I know it’s because she’s waiting for me to thank her properly.
I want to make her feel good about her ritual, so I ratchet up my enthusiasm. “Yes, he is. A real cutie-pie too, thanks to you and Dola.” I smile at her briefly before resuming my “Search for the Non-Holey Outfit,” both literally and figuratively. I start tossing things out of my closet over my shoulder in a mad dash. My choices seem to land in one of two categories: Clothes that are Boring, or Outfits for My Burial. Looking at a pink summer dress with slightly yellowed armpit stains makes me realize that I’d even be embarrassed to be caught dead in it.
Busia suddenly rushes toward me and grabs my arm—a little rough for an old lady if you ask me. “No, not go! This is not goodboy. Candle went out when I pray today. Very bad luck. Means he have the devil in him.”
I can tell she’s serious, but she’s worrying about nothing. “No, that can’t be right. This guy is harmless, and he’s super nice.” I pry her fingers off my arm, wincing when I grab some arm hairs along with it. “In fact, your ritual worked so well, that I didn’t meet only one boy, I met two!” I bring a finger to my lips, to show it’s a secret. “Don’t say anything, okay?” In desperation, I grab my dingy white cami off the floor and toss my turquoise tank with the sequins on top of that. I shimmy my jean skirt up over my thighs, fold it once at the waist so it’s date-worthy, and I’m ready as I’ll ever be.
“O moj Boze! That is why candle go out!” Busia gazes at me, looking so worried that it makes my heart want to break. “Two boys at same time is very, very bad luck!”
“Shh! Not so loud.” Busia is so out of the loop when it comes to dating. If Dola is one of God’s workers, she should understand that two boys at once are heavenly. “It’s our little secret, okay?”
She’s about to say something else when she sneezes. “You see that? When someone sneeze, it mean devil is around! That is why people say ‘God bless you.’ Makes devil leave out your nose.” She stares at me like I’m supposed to suddenly change my mind, all because she sneezed.
“You’re just catching a cold.” I smile, patting Busia’s shoulder.
She frowns and pulls me close. “No, I know it’s the devil because I trip today.” She points to her left foot. “Devil live on the left, so he make me do that. But I have good news.” She squeezes my arm again. “If you wait until after Matka do ritual too, all of us as a family, then Dola will be happy, and you can date boy. I will talk to Matka tonight.”
“Mom will never agree to do one of your rituals, and you know it.” Right before I leave, I drop to my knees in search of my strawberry lip gloss. I swear I saw it next to my bed this morning.
She straightens a picture on my dresser. “If you go, I worry that Dola’s curse is that you never get married.”
I give up on the lip gloss and look up at her. “Whoa. That’s harsh.” I’m dying to add, “Thank God this deal thing is all make believe, or I’d be scared right now.” These wacko predictions are probably why Mom is so against Busia’s rituals—she takes things way too far. “Sorry, but I’m still going. He’s already here.” I shrug, like I have no choice.
“Okay.” She sighs heavily. “But I not be responsible for what happens.”
“No worries, Boosh. I’ll see you later.”
As Busia steps out of my room, Giovanni’s deep masculine tones from the kitchen float into my room. My mom giggles like she’s been given a hit of nitric oxide. I know that fake hysterical laugh anywhere. It’s the one Mom reserves for one purpose only—flirting. Maybe the bad luck Busia sensed is that I need to fend off my mother from my dates. As soon as I find my silver sandals, I need to rescue Giovanni before my mother asks him out for coffee.
I pop my head out the door. “I’ll be out in one sec!”
Giovanni smiles and gives me a nod. I wave hello, getting only a glimpse of him, but the peek I got sends me back into my room, holding my chest. He’s even hotter than I remember! His hair is made of gorgeous, and everything about him oozes sexiness, which makes it even more likely that he can get any girl he wants. I’d better kick things up a notch in the wardrobe department. I ditch the cami from underneath and wear my V-neck sequined tank solo, exposing a bit more of my two dearest friends, Boo and Bee.
My mom lets out another blast of laughter, fueling my fears. If I don’t get out there soon, he could ditch me and my crazy mom before this date even gets off the ground. All I need is some perfume, and I’m done. I grab the pink bottle of Forever Punk perfume, Dollar Dynamo’s Victoria Secret knockoff, and spritz myself thoroughly.
“Come with me, Giovanni. Let me show you our house.” Footsteps scuffle down the hall toward my room. Oh. My. Fricking. Mother! Why is she bringing him through our dinky, mismatched apartment? She’s ruining everything! I was going to break Giovanni in slowly, not revealing much about our family unless he and I really hit it off tonight.
I sprint toward the door so I can leap into the hall and head him back the other way before he sees my atomic aftermath, but suddenly, Giovanni and my idiot mother are standing there.
Center stage.
Wit
h a birds-eye view of my mess.
“Well, here is Sophie’s room. It looks like an old Polish clothes factory, doesn’t it?” She chuckles heartily and elbows Giovanni in the ribs. “Sophie is so lazy that maybe I’ll be buying her one of them Lazy Girl chairs.” This time, I mentally tackle her to the floor and stuff a pair of socks into her mouth.
“Thanks, Mom. I can take it from here.” I yank my discount Hello Kitty quilt over the disaster on my bed, hoping Giovanni has bad eyesight. “Oh, did you hear that, Mom? Busia’s calling you.”
“No, I right here.” Busia appears in the hallway, the empty coffee cup from earlier in her hand. “I going to feed Domovoy and then go to bed.” I cringe at the mention of my dead grandfather’s spirit, the one whom Busia believes lives under our stove. She’s told me that a daily helping of her delicacies is all he asks in exchange for protecting our family.
“You have a dog?” Giovanni asks, glancing down the hall.
“Domovoy not dog. Him ghost of dead husband.” Busia pads off toward the kitchen with no further explanation.
Fabulous.
My mother rolls her eyes and leans toward Giovanni. “Don’t worry. My mother sometimes acts crazy, but Sophie is a very good girl. Lazy, but good. Treat her right and buy her lots of nice things, and then I might let you take her out again.” She giggles and pokes his upper arm. “Oh good gosh! You have really strong muscles!”
That’s it. I grab my purse and slip between my mom and Giovanni. “Ready?”
“Sure. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Dumbrowski,” Giovanni says as I tug on his arm.
I race through the kitchen and down the steps with Giovanni close behind. “Sorry about my mother. She recently escaped the mental hospital, and I haven’t had time to take her back.”
He laughs. “Ah, come on. She didn’t seem that bad.”
“Not that good either.”
