by Joy Penny
Brielle groaned and pushed past him, still not giving him the decency of looking at his face. Ever since the genius had figured out her father—the father who hadn’t been a part of her life since she was eight—was Puerto Rican, he hadn’t let go of the gross, insensitive jokes. How Brielle could have been stupid enough to date him not once—but twice—over the course of these past several years, she would never know. That was a total of four or five months, give or take, she’d never be able to get back. The only year she’d been entirely free of him was freshman year, and that was just because he was a year younger than her and hadn’t started school yet.
“Hey,” said Daniel, trailing after Brielle as she made her way to the cafeteria doors. “You didn’t seem to mind the name when we were dating.”
Brielle spun around, looking up at Daniel despite herself. He wasn’t even that good-looking, not really, not when you couldn’t not associate his skeevy smile with all the skeevy things he’d done. She would never forgive herself for being so stupid. “Which name? ‘Elle’ or ‘spicy pepper’?”
Daniel grinned, invisible slime practically oozing from the corners of his mouth. “Either one? There were a few lovely evenings in my dorm room betwixt the sheets that I even christened you my ‘hot mama.’”
“Grow up.” Brielle turned around so Daniel wouldn’t mistake the flush on her cheeks for embarrassment because she found him charming. It was rage, pure and simple, but he’d be too simple-minded to figure that out.
Daniel followed her down the stairs. “I’m going to graduation tomorrow!”
“That’s nice,” clipped Brielle.
“Don’t you want to know why?” At the bottom of the stairs, Daniel grabbed her arm and tugged her back toward him. She slammed against a passing student and mumbled her apologies.
“No,” said Brielle, ripping her arm free of his grip. “But I figured if you didn’t have a reason, you’d be gone by now. Most underclassmen don’t stick around for graduation weekend. Or did you miss the fact that classes ended because you never attend them anyway?”
“Ouch.” Daniel gripped his heart mockingly again. “Spicy pepper strikes again.”
“Shut up,” said Brielle. She poked a finger at his chest. “No, seriously, just shut up. I don’t care why you’re still here or that you’re going to tomorrow’s ceremony. I’m just glad that you’re not going to be in my life at all after tomorrow.” Brielle hated the words as soon as they tumbled from her mouth. Daniel had this habit of getting under her skin, of causing her to explode and making it seem like he was constantly on her mind when he wasn’t. Not at all. He just burrowed into her mind when he wouldn’t get out of her way and kept pushing and pushing her until…
“My fiancée is graduating.” Daniel’s gaze roved over her face. He was probably looking for some sort of reaction.
He didn’t get one. “Good for her.”
“Aren’t you wondering how I got a fiancée since we just broke up three months ago?”
“Nope.” “Broke up” was generous. The second time was more like a fling. An ill-advised, stupid, stupid fling.
“Seriously?” Daniel scoffed, loudly enough to catch several passersby’s attention. “You know, you’re one coldhearted bitch.”
Brielle laughed. “You’re the bigoted asshole, but I’m the coldhearted bitch?”
“Bigoted?” Daniel shook his head. “If I were bigoted, would I have even dated you?”
Brielle imagined herself wringing his neck and then took a deep breath. “Fine.” Brielle waved a hand in the air and turned around. “Whatever.”
“Case in point!” said Daniel tauntingly.
But thanks to the energy from the anger coursing through her veins, Brielle summoned her super speed and managed to ditch him before he was compelled to follow and torment her any further.
Too bad she couldn’t stop thinking about the asshole the entire rest of the day.
Chapter Two
Daniel was like a case of food poisoning whenever he wormed his way into her mind. He, too, shall pass, after a half a day’s torment—anger more at herself than at him. Not that he didn’t deserve it. But he wasn’t worth it. No matter how much he drove her crazy.
Brielle took a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling the soft faux leather beneath her fingertips. It was better to remember the great time she’d had the day before at graduation. The pictures she’d taken with Lilac, Gavin, and Pembroke. The hugs her mom and little sister had shared with her. The way even her casual college acquaintances had screamed and hollered when the announcer had called her name and she’d walked across the stage to grab the diploma she now held in her hands. No Daniel around. No fiancée. He’d had at least that much sense—to leave her alone on that day. (Assuming it wasn’t just because he’d had so much to do with his fiancée. Good luck to her.) It had been the perfect day.
She opened her eyes and sighed. She’d cleared a little space for the diploma on the top of her bookshelf, next to a Funko Pop of Loki (still in box) and a dreamcatcher she’d made in eighth grade at summer camp (one of her last free summers before she’d been doomed to scrub floors for the rest of those sunny days). She stepped back and tried to get the whole picture of her childhood bedroom, but it was cluttered—boxes taken from her dorm room left only the smallest path from her bed to the door, stuffed animals gathered dust atop her shelves, and her closet was full of clothes she hadn’t touched since the last time she’d received a diploma. She’d have to make a trip to Goodwill one of these days to free up space in her bedroom closet for the clothes she’d had at the dorm.
May as well swap the clothes to keep with the clothes to go and then unload the boxes in the garage for the next time I’m near the thrift store. Brielle kneeled on her bedroom floor and took a scissors to the tape on the nearest box of clothes and slid her closet door open, grabbing the first thing within reach. Oh. My Scrubbing Cherubs uniform. Black pants, a navy blue half-apron, and the pièce de résistance: a bright blue, long-sleeved T-shirt with her mom’s business logo on the front over the breast and about five hundred times the size on the back. Brielle’s shoulders sagged just looking at it. She held the shirt up to her front and winced, her guess likely proven true. She’d gained a little weight this past year—just a tad, just enough to give her some more defined curves in her opinion—and this uniform was unlikely to still fit.
It’s okay, she told herself. It’s just for the summer. Probably. Maybe even less. Who knows when I’ll find a job?
“I hope you’re not unpacking everything.” Brielle looked up where she sat on her shaggy brown carpet to find her mom standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. “It’ll just make moving out more of a pain for you—and you won’t have a lot of free time as long as you’re working for me.”
Brielle rolled her eyes. “Surely you could let me skip the whole ‘two weeks’ notice’ thing once I find a job.” She tossed the uniform on her bed and reached back into the closet. “I can use that time to pack and figure out what I want to take. I’m just making some room now and starting a pile for Goodwill.”
Her mom looked from the open box to the overstuffed closet and back again. “Okay, good idea. I don’t know if I can afford to let you stop too suddenly,” she said, disappointment creeping into her voice. “I’d need to find a replacement for you. We don’t vary our shifts anymore, not without good reason, and I’m not sure I’d be able to scramble to reorganize the other women’s time to cover your clients.”
“You don’t vary shifts anymore?” Brielle raised her eyebrows as she grabbed a crumpled-up bundle from the back of the closet that turned out to be a lacy, see-through black shirt. The kind her mom didn’t use to let her wear even if she’d never been stupid enough not to wear it without a tank underneath.
“Too many clients complained about ‘differences in cleaning styles.’ Once we’re sure the client is satisfied, we stick to it.” She didn’t comment on the top, but she watched it warily as Brielle tossed it on the flo
or beside her. If she wore it these days, she’d be afraid of being thought of as a Goth. Nothing wrong with Goth style, but it didn’t feel appropriate for a college grad.
Great. So I’m probably going to be stuck with Mrs. Tanaka every other day. Most normal clients only requested a cleanup once a week. But not Mrs. Tanaka. If it were within the woman’s means, Brielle was certain Mrs. Tanaka would just have a full-time maid move into her guestroom.
“You’ve got Mrs. Tanaka again this summer,” said Brielle’s mom, almost reading her mind. “Tracy was so happy you could take her off her hands for a while, and Mrs. Tanaka was always satisfied with your work in the past.”
If that was ‘satisfied,’ I’d hate to see how she acts when she’s unsatisfied.
Her mom didn’t have anything more to say on the matter. She hated when anyone bashed her clients, even if they were nowhere within earshot. “We started a new client just last week, and I’m giving you him as well.” She hesitated. “He’s… a bit of a handful.”
A handful? That had to be the harshest thing Brielle had ever heard her mom say about one of her paying customers.
“What do you mean?” Brielle wrung the frilly white blouse she’d grabbed.
“Nothing,” said her mom, straightening up and throwing back her shoulders. “Deena and him just haven’t clicked yet is all, so I’m shifting things around and giving you the job.”
“How can they not have ‘clicked’? If he just started last week, she couldn’t have been there more than once already. How badly could things have gone?”
“He’s a daily client.”
“What?” Brielle didn’t know if her mom had ever had any daily clients. Mrs. Tanaka certainly would have been, but even she seemed to know that things could only get so dirty in one day’s time and that it was worth hanging on to some of your social security and pension dollars.
Her mom shrugged. “Every day except Sunday. I guess his mother makes a point of visiting him on Sundays and she does the cleaning then.”
There were so many things wrong with that statement, Brielle didn’t even know where to begin. How old was this guy that his mommy still came to clean for him? How filthy was he that he needed someone to clean every single day? And wait, so was Brielle going to get any days off, other than Sundays? Apparently not?
“Please tell me I at least have Sundays entirely off.”
Her mom sighed. “You have Sundays entirely off.” Beneath her words was the unspoken “but I don’t take any days off, so I don’t know why you need even a single day off” that Brielle was sure not to mistake. “And Saturdays, it’s just him. I gave you a really easy load this summer. I wanted you to have extra time to job search.”
Sure. One and a half days off per week. Plenty of time to go on interviews and scroll through job listings.
She sighed and her mom pinched her lips. “You told me this would just be until you find something better.”
“It is! It will be.” Brielle waved her hands around her mess of a room. “You’ll have your guestroom or sewing room or whatever soon enough.”
“Like I have time to sew.” Her mom grunted. “Brielle, I don’t want you to end up like me.”
“…The owner of a successful business?”
“The owner of a just barely making it business, sure, but that’s not what I mean.” Brielle’s mom ran a hand up and down one arm, like she had a sudden chill. “I like what I do, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not what I wanted. It’s not at all what I had in mind.”
Brielle reached up behind her and grabbed her Scrubbing Cherubs shirt, staring at the pudgy little half-naked winged baby holding a mop instead of a bow. “But then you had me and oh, well, there went all your hopes and dreams.”
Brielle’s mom took in a sharp breath and she stepped over some clothes on the floor with her long gait to sit at the foot of Brielle’s bed. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t regret having you girls.” She patted Brielle’s shoulder.
Brielle couldn’t help herself. “Even though you don’t fail to mention how you regret meeting my dad on a near-daily basis.”
Her mom’s hand clutched her shoulder hard. “Brielle, this isn’t what I’m talking about at all. I don’t even care whether or not you date or get married or have kids—I don’t even care if you do it all this summer and are moved into the house with a white picket fence by September.”
“Mom.” Brielle shook her head. She’d have to be a gold digger for that to happen, and even if it did, she wasn’t going to pop out a baby by summer’s end. She was already six months late with that plan. She shuddered. Kids are for years from now. Even marriage. I mean, I don’t even know anyone to date.
“I just mean that… Whatever you do, I need you to focus first and foremost on what you need to do. On what will make you happy. And I know for a fact working for me as a house cleaner for the rest of your life is not at all what you have in mind. Even if that might be all your majors prove good for.”
Brielle rubbed her fingers over her forehead. “Mom, I just graduated yesterday. Cut me some slack, maybe?”
Her mom held her hands together over her lap and shrugged. “Didn’t your friend Lilac have a job offer before she graduated?”
“Yeah, and she totally blew it all on a whim and is off to Florida instead of Minnesota. Something I didn’t even know until two days ago, by the way.” Brielle thought of the text she’d gotten from Lilac that morning, which had included a photo of her dressed in her Bohemian, flowy, flowery finest with sunglasses perched atop her head, even though she was clearly inside the O’Hare airport with cloudy skies apparent through the window behind her. So nervous but sooooo excited! read the text. Lilac hadn’t looked nervous at all. And really, moving the day after graduation?
“So she had two job offers. And your gay friend, too?”
“His name is Gavin, Mom.” She shook her head. She didn’t think her mom was bigoted, but little slipups like that drove her crazy.
“Gavin, yes. You told me he got a job at a marketing company in Chicago.”
“He got an unpaid internship, but yes.”
“And internships are far more likely to lead to careers than cleaning houses for your mom. Unless you’re studying for the position of becoming a full-time maid.”
Brielle knew Mrs. Tanaka would hire her in a heartbeat if she charged less than minimum wage for the pleasure of cleaning full-time after Spark and Tigger, her two snobby cats. The thought sent shivers down her spine.
“That’s what I thought.” Her mom stood to go. “I’ll email you your weekly itinerary with directions to the clients who are new to you.”
“Oh, Mom.” Brielle held her shirt up. “I think I’m going to need a size up.” She could go buy a new pair of pants, but she wasn’t going to find this gaudy design on any other piece of clothing even if she spent the rest of her life combing thrift stores and garbage dumps.
“We don’t have any Larges right now.” She frowned. “I haven’t hired anyone in a while, so we only have the Smalls and Extra Smalls in the garage.”
Brielle grimaced. That would make things worse. She’d rather have a baggy XL if no Larges were available, but if even those were out of stock, then she’d be stuck with her too-small Medium. “Never mind.”
“I’d order you another one, but by the time it arrives, you might have a new job.”
“Got it.” Brielle also got the underlying “threat” there. How long did it take to have a shirt printed and shipped? Four weeks, if that? Her mom had to be crazy if she thought she’d have a new job by then.
“Okay… Can you have dinner on the table for your sister by five?”
Brielle cocked her head. “But you’re home.” She didn’t say the other words. The “for once.” To be fair, it’d been almost a year since she’d seen her mom’s daily routine at work. But graduation had taken place over a holiday weekend and the Scrubbing Cherubs actually didn’t disperse to dirty homes on national holidays, barring some emergencies.
Her mom cradled her forehead. “Bri, if you knew how much paperwork I have backlogged…”
“All right, all right. Dinner at five.” Brielle so wanted to go online for a pizza takeout menu, but this wasn’t school anymore, and she knew how her mom felt about eating out or paying someone to make your food for you. Every penny counted, and after you finished eating, you had nothing to show for those extra pennies spent.
Nothing to show except satisfaction and time better spent.
“I’ll eat the leftovers later, when I’m done. And make something… healthy.” She gave Brielle a onceover before stepping outside.
Brielle pinched the little bit of fat seeping out from her stomach as she slouched on the floor of her bedroom. She sighed. Maybe I ordered one too many pizzas at school anyway.
Chapter Three
“You know, it’s possible to steam vegetables without them turning into rubber.” Nora pinched a limp broccoli stalk between her fingers and held it up to the light for a better look.
“Very funny.” Brielle let out an exasperated sigh and slid into the chair next to her little sister’s. Only she wasn’t so “little” anymore. One more year of high school and she’d be off to college, too. Of course, she still had to finish out her junior year. Brielle never understood why colleges let out practically a month earlier than grade schools.
Nora dropped the broccoli back on the plate beside her half-eaten chicken breast and three remaining grains of rice and pushed the plate forward. Brielle glanced at her as she picked up her fork, annoyed that Nora had “finished” before she’d even completed grilling her own chicken breast on the stovetop in the one—very small—frying pan her mom had that was easy to find. Brielle looked around at the state of the kitchen—dishes stacked in the sink, open boxes of cereal on the counters, condiments left out instead of put back in the fridge. If any of the Scrubbing Cherubs clients actually saw the house of the company’s owner, they’d very much doubt her ability to do the job.