“Yeah, yeah.” Bruce walked back to the house. He didn’t seem deterred by my dad’s dig.
“You look like you could use a glass of sweet tea.” Mom thought sweet tea could fix all that ails you.
“What I could really use is a nap.” I gave them my best puppy dog eyes. It pained me that they had taken time off to be home when I got there, and I only wanted to sleep.
“Before you go pass out in your bedroom, what happened with your car, and how much did it cost to get it towed here?” Creases of worry lined my dad’s face.
I mustered up some cheer. “The tow truck didn’t cost anything. A good Samaritan paid for it.”
“There’s no such thing as a good Samaritan these days. That will come back to bite us in the ass.” My mom, sweet and cynic.
“Really, Mom, he’s rich, and he picked up the bill. He helped me get my car off the road, and when I asked the tow truck driver how much I owed him, he said it had been taken care of.”
My dad asked, “What’s this man’s name? And how do you know he’s rich?”
“He drove a Bentley and introduced himself as Hugo Popovits.” I started toward my bedroom in zombie mode.
“Popovits? As in the oil Popovits family?” My dad right on my heels.
“The Popo twins,” I muttered. “He looked like a caveman, but was very nice. Polite anyway.”
I walked through the living room, not even noticing if anything had changed in the three years since I’d been home, and down the hallway. I opened the door to my bedroom to find…
“What?” I looked around in dismay. “Where is my bedroom?”
My mother lagged way behind Dad. “Your dad asked you about your car and the tow truck.”
“I’m asking about my bedroom,” I cried. “Or lack thereof.”
“Now, Maisy, in all fairness, you are almost twenty-seven years old. I couldn’t keep the Barbie doll theme forever.” She’d caught up to us, standing behind my dad, peeking out from behind him.
“She’s right. You were never coming back, remember? Over your dead body, if I recall correctly. And your mother wanted a room for her craft business.” He pointed across the room. “There’s still a bed.”
My room had never been decorated with a Barbie theme. I wasn’t a Barbie kind of girl. The room had, however, been painted powder blue with ivory curtains,and the walls were covered with teen idol and horse posters. I’d always wanted horses as a kid. I’d even had a hutch in my room with a collection of Bryer horses. They’d been removed, too.
“My horses?” I glared at my mother. A travesty, since I’d never even been allowed to have riding lessons.
“They are safely packed away in the attic,” she assured me.
I’d never admit it, but the room looked good. She’d had it painted a creamy white with a slightly darker trim, and she’d taken down the curtains. The windows now had custom fit wide-panel blinds. The flooring looked like gray hand-finished planks, but had to be ceramic, because I could see grout. And the bed Dad had pointed out was a nice day bed with an antique iron frame. It had been made with simple white cotton sheets and an antique multicolored handmade block quilt, then covered with an armload of throw pillows in pastels that matched the quilt. No one would know she used the room for her hobby (I mean business), unless told. It looked like a guest room.
“Okay, I’ll deal with that later.” I whined, being an ungrateful baby. I knew better, but I was home with my mommy and daddy, and I wanted to be a baby for a few minutes before I fell asleep. I’d wake up and be an adult again soon enough.
“Can we talk about how much money we owe the Popovits family?”
“Sure,” I said, as I walked into the bathroom and closed the door. I needed to change my diaper, or at least remove this diaper pad.
Surprisingly, my dad didn’t yell from the other side of the door. But I pictured him waiting impatiently. I took my time.
I also needed a shower, but I needed sleep more. When the coast sounded clear, I snuck out of the bathroom and went back to my bedroom.
I pushed the throw pillows aside and pulled back the covers on the bed. I crawled in the bed and marveled at the firmness of the mattress.
I’m not sure I even remembered my head hitting the pillow.
Chapter 4
The rancid smell I awoke to had the aroma of skunk and the long white fur of my mom’s Maltipoo, Cora. Cora had curled up at the top of my head and chosen to nap with me. The skunk smell was her passing gas. I heard the air escaping her butt and shot up, nearly choking on the odor and taste. Cora, oblivious, added snoring to the mix.
As soon as I crossed the room, and in clearer air, I reached in my pocket for my phone to see the time, then remembered, my phone had died before I arrived home, and I’d left it in my car, along with the rest of my belongings.
I closed my eyes and leaned against my mom’s craft desk, wanting to go back to sleep, dreading having to tell my parents the whole story. How to explain to them that a hundred-thousand-dollar college education had landed their daughter right back in their house just four years later?
The bedroom door had been left open a crack, which explained dear old Cora coming to keep me company. Little sweetie had been just a puppy when I’d left for college, a gift from Dad, so Mom wouldn’t be a total empty nester. Bet she thought that empty nest sounded a lot better right about now.
I opened the door slowly, hoping to make it down the hall and out to my car before anyone noticed me. At least I’d have my phone and the charger, and then I could talk to Gwen. Gwen had been my sounding board, my confidante, since college. Funny, we’d met in Los Angeles, but both of us hailed from Dallas. She could come get me. I’d talk to her first.
I’d made it to the front door, almost home free. Yes. I opened the door, and there stood my dad.
“Where you going?” Not a bit accusing, just curiosity in his voice.
“I left my phone in my car.” I rubbed my eyes, feigning continued exhaustion.
He grabbed me by both shoulders and turned me around, facing me back toward the house. “Inside, young lady. We’re going to have a talk.”
I hadn’t heard that line since the time he found me asleep on the front porch at four in the morning. I’d been so drunk I couldn’t get my key in the front door lock, so I curled up and went to sleep. As I recall, he said it my sophomore year of high school. Could have been junior year, it’s all a blur now.
He marched me into the dining room, where my mom clipped coupons and filed them into pockets in her handy dandy coupon folder. Here’s the thing about my mom and coupons: she clipped them and filed them, but never remembered to bring them to the market with her. Or restaurants. Or anywhere else. And when she finally did remember, they’d expired. But she’d been clipping them since us kids were in grade school.
“Any good deals?” I tried any distraction.
My dad pulled out a chair for me. “Your phone is charging over on the bar in the kitchen, where we charge all the phones. I don't understand why you have to have a special phone that needs a different charger than the rest of ours.”
“It’s an iPhone, Dad.” Guilt overcame me, knowing he’d grabbed my phone and charged it for me. I wondered if he’d seen how many missed calls, voicemails, and texts I had. Thank goodness for password protection.
“Hoity-toity.” Mom put her scissors down.
I chuckled. “No, Mom, just different.”
“Your father and I unpacked that mess you had stuffed in your car. I couldn’t tell the clean from the dirty, so I loaded it all in the laundry room, and started washing. The clean clothes are separated into piles by color and type, and there’s still about five or six loads left to wash. I’ll figure out the cost later.”
I looked at my dad, not knowing what mom meant. He avoided me.
My heart melted. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve done it when I woke up. I’m just so tired. It’s a long drive on a good day. And I’d had several really bad days.”
/>
Dad sat back down and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. He wore a long sleeve pullover shirt and drawstring sweatpants, no shoes. “As bad as you looked, we thought you might sleep for days. But don’t get used to it. We don’t wait on your brother, and we aren’t going to start waiting on you. You’ll get a job and be out of this house within thirty days, or you’ll start paying rent.”
“Harsh.” I grinned as I said it.
“I’m not joking, Maisy.” His jaw tightened.
“Now, Ralph, let her explain why she’s here, then we’ll figure out what’s next.”
I wanted to hug my mom.
Dad got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. If the lights shined in our house, a fresh cup of coffee could be had. Not the fancy stuff, or Keurig, or Starbucks, but drip coffee pot with a timer, so we woke to the smell of fresh brewed coffee every morning. Pre-ground coffee that came in a can.
“Want a cup?” he asked.
I held up my hand. “I’m good. Thanks, Dad.”
I told them the G-rated version of what had happened with my boss and my boyfriend. I explained how I’d sold everything but my clothes when I’d moved in with Miles, because he had a fully furnished apartment. I’d made a little money selling it, and had it stashed away. I’d been planning to surprise Miles with a cruise or something.
“Maybe you should start paying rent right away, then,” Mom said.
“Darlene, stop that.” Dad nearly choked on his coffee.
“That’s when I thought she was destitute.” Mom got up, put her coupons away in a drawer, then poured her own cup of coffee. “You sure you don’t want any, honey?”
“How much are you going to charge me?” I snapped.
“This one’s free.” She came back to the table. “I’ll make a list of service charges in a few days.”
Dad chuckled.
I choked.
“So, what’s your plan?” Mom sounded serious now. “Are you going to nurse a broken heart, or are you going to get back on the horse? I mean, you’re not a spring chicken. And you need a job. Get a real job this time, and maybe the guys you meet won’t all be fairies.”
“Mother!” She knew better. I’d worked in fashion long enough, and she wasn't some uneducated girl from the backwoods.
“Darlene, where did that come from? We don’t talk like that,” Dad’s voice cracked with laughter.
“How’s she going to meet a nice guy when they all like guys?” She put her coffee cup on the table and moved the cup around.
“There are plenty of straight men in the industry, and in SoCal. I dated a straight man, who screwed my female boss.” I hated to point that out to them a second time.
“True.” She contemplated her cup of coffee. “Do you think that’s why Bruce is still single? You think he likes boys? Maybe you could find him a nice boy to move in with.” She looked up and raised her brows.
Personally, I didn't think Bruce liked guys, or that he needed to be set up with a man. I think my parents needed to cut the cord, and they hadn’t, so he abused it. Not my circus, not my monkey, I’d stay out of it.
“And you need to find out how much money we owe the Popovits family. We don't take charity. We’ll pay for the tow truck.” My dad cleared his throat. “You’ll pay for the tow truck.”
“Yes, Dad. I’ll find out and I’ll pay. Don’t worry.”
“You still haven’t told us your plans. Why did you come back here? I thought your life was in California now?” Mom leaned forward, almost defying me to answer.
This next part would be harder than telling them what happened with Miles and Marla. I took a deep breath. Okay. I took another deep breath. “I want to start my own business.”
They both stared at me. Silence.
I stared back. Waiting.
Bruce walked in the kitchen. “Start your own business? Doing what?”
Not exactly how I wanted things to go, but at least Bruce broke the trance.
“Personal stylist, like I did in California. I want to start my own personal stylist company.”
Now I had three sets of eyes staring at me in total silence. Until Bruce broke the silence with his belly laugh.
“You’re too much. That’s a good one.” His whole body shook as he walked to the fridge and pulled out a can of Coke.
“Hey, put a dollar in the jar. That stuff isn’t free.” My mom jumped up and grabbed the can from Bruce’s hand.
“Leave him be, he just steals the money from the jar when you aren’t looking, Mom,” I said.
Bruce glared at me.
I guess he thought I didn’t know. That’ll teach him to laugh at my dreams.
Mom put her hand out. “Dollar. Now.”
“I don’t have a dollar.” Bruce sulked.
Mom pushed by him and put the Coke back in the fridge. “Then you also don’t have a Coke. Now get.”
“Dad?” Bruce whined.
Dad shook his head.
Smart man.
“A personal stylist in Dallas?” Dad asked me. “How would you get started?”
“I’m still working that part out. I might start a blog. I thought maybe I’d get started by working with some of the sports teams. Maybe some of the players’ wives would like a stylist. I don’t know. I plan to talk to Gwen and Orlean, get their input. Once I have a few clients, the business will grow by word of mouth.” My insides churned as I talked.
“How much money is this going to cost? And will you need an office?” asked the coupon clipper, concerned that I’d impose on her newly-acquired office space, my old room.
I wanted to respond by saying, “I could take over the bedroom and make it my office. It won’t cost too much, but I’ll have to live at home for several months, maybe a year or more,” just to see her reaction. Instead, I said,“I don’t know. I have to work everything out. I wasn’t able to crunch the numbers while driving. And I’ve had a lot on my mind. Once I talk to Gwen and Orlean, I may change my mind.”
My mom pushed her half-full cup away from her. “Why do you need their approval? Why can’t you talk to us and make this decision on your own?”
She sounded hurt.
“I can make it on my own. And I do value your input. But they both work in retail and fashion. Not to mention, they work here in Dallas.” I shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter what anyone says, kiddo, you need to do what’s right for you. Work up a business plan, then bring it to me and I’ll go over it with you. Then you decide if you can make it work. How are you going to support yourself until this new venture is profitable?” My dad, ever the pragmatic businessman.
“I figured I’d use my savings and my stash, get a job waiting tables. Maybe I’d design a few clothing pieces and sell them on Etsy or something.” I had no idea. I’d fly by the seat of my pants and organize the jumble of thoughts that had come to me while driving.
“Start looking for a job while you do this,” Mom said. “You’ll want to have a place of your own.” She looked over her shoulder at my silent brother and glared, then back at me. “You can sell on my Etsy account if you want.”
“Thanks, Mom, I’ll consider that.” So generous for my mom.
Dad stood. “Speaking of Gwen. She called the house while you slept. She’s worried about you because you weren’t picking up your cell phone. That’s when I went out and found the thing dead as an armadillo on the side of the road. Anyway, I told her I’d have you up and at ’em by dinner. So, go take a shower and get cleaned up. You still look terrible, and you’re starting to smell like Cora’s farts.”
I had the urge to shake my head, fling some Cora fart residue around. I stood. I desperately needed a shower and to change my diaper again.
“Sorry, I was such a crab when I arrived. I was very tired and at the end of my rope when my car broke down.” I reached into the little pocket in my yoga pants (the one meant for a tiny MP3 player that no one owns anymore) and pulled out a dollar. “Get a Coke, Bruce.” I hand
ed the dollar to my mom.
I walked into the bathroom, stripping down as I went, wanting to strip free of my diaper. I probably smelled like urine and farts. As I closed the door behind me, I looked in the mirror.
I screamed a blood curdling scream. Why hadn’t anyone told me I looked this bad?
By the time I exited the shower, I barely had the energy to crawl in bed. But somehow I managed, then sent Gwen a text.
Doing okay, but too tired. Meet at Mug Shots for coffee in the morning?
She sent back a frown face, then, First thing. I miss you.
That’s when I made the mistake of scrolling through my messages as I lay on my bed. It only took half a dozen before my eyes welled up, and I couldn’t see to read.
A light knock on the door. “Are you okay?” my mom asked as she cracked it open.
I sniffed. “I’ll be fine.”
She walked over and sat on the bed. “Thirty days, dear. Just thirty days.”
Oh, God, was she reminding me once again that I needed to get a job ASAP and get my own place? I frowned at her, wiped my eyes, but decided to play along. “What?”
“That’s how long it takes to get over assholes. Thirty days.”
Chapter 5
As usual, I arrived at Mug Shots before Gwen and Orlean. When we used to come home for school breaks, we hung out here. It’s a cool little restaurant with old red brick walls covered in pictures and old “Wanted” posters. Instead of people’s faces, the posters had different coffee drinks and their prices. The frames on the photos and posters weren’t cheap plastic crap, but beautiful and ornate, as if the owner had gone to estate auctions to find the perfect frame for each picture. The wide-plank floors boasted marks, stains, and gouges from use and traffic, as did the coffee bar.
I sat in our usual spot near the door, wanting to be privy to who came and went. Lots of Dallas Cowboy players frequented this coffee house¸ and we liked to see if we recognized any and name them. Back when I cared about Texas football, I rocked at this. Living in California for so many years, I didn’t care as much anymore. But I did care that our seating area looked exactly as it had the last time I’d come home.
Hello (Dressing A Billionaire #1) Page 3