Good Girl : An Enemies-to-Lovers, Roommate Romance (Alphahole Roommates Book 2), page 34
She holds the phone.
“Can’t do this on the phone, Jada. I wanna see you.”
“Austin, my father’s here at risk of killing himself because he’s not looking after himself and doesn’t want me here and my brother’s in a hospital because he’s trying to actually kill himself, and I’m not allowed to be there, and I just can’t do this right now. Or at all. You told me your life was complicated but won’t talk about it and well, mine is too but I’ve just spelled it all out to you, so now… the best thing I can do for my own sanity is to just do what I need to do to get through each day until you go home to California. Keep our distance. Keep things professional. Okay?”
“No.”
“Austin, I can’t pretend and I don’t want you to pretend just because you feel bad for me, so I have to go. Thanks for saying I don’t have to come over tomorrow, I could really use a day here to clean this pigsty. Please don’t fire me. I’ll be there Monday, doing whatever needs to be done.”
“Listen to me for a second…”
She keeps talking, “I really need this job and I’ll do it; I’ll keep your brother’s condo clean and stocked with food and dealing with your dry cleaning and whatever other errands you have and I’ll be there Monday, okay?”
“Jada, what’s the address? I’m coming there now. I need to-”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta go. It’s just the job now, Austin. That’s all I can do. Bye.”
She hangs up before I can say anything else.
***
Monday
She’s been here today. The fridge is stocked with food and there are labeled containers in the freezer. She’s done a whack of cooking, probably at her father’s house, and dropped it all off, with six containers covering me for the next three days with lunch and dinner plus added milk, juice, and some smoothie stuff to the fridge. Every container has a sticker with purple marker and neat handwriting describing the contents, with today’s date in the corner. There are also four packs of pudding in the fridge.
I haven’t asked her to get me smoothie stuff, but I mentioned smoothies the other day and she obviously took note.
I kept the place clean so she wouldn’t have to worry about that and I would’ve told her she didn’t need to bring food, but I wanted to see her.
I got back from work early, four o’clock, since I had nothing to do but work all weekend so found myself ahead of schedule and hoped coming back early would mean she’d be here.
But she’s already been and gone, leaving a dish of curly pasta with tomato and cream sauce, Italian sausage and peppers for dinner in the fridge with a fresh baguette sitting on top of the microwave.
I eat the pasta, every single bite – like I haven’t eaten in a week, staring out the window, even polish off almost a third of the loaf of bread, and then I get on my phone and do a search for Richard Miller. There are too many of them in that area of New Jersey.
I call Jude.
“Austin,” he answers. “What’s good?”
“Hey, man. Not much. How’s things?”
He chuckles. “Interesting.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he confirms. “But I can’t talk about it at the moment since I’m over here hunting.”
There’s laughter in his voice so I ask, “Hunting?”
“Yeah, hunting a blue-haired vixen.”
“Blue-eyed?”
“Yep. That, too. Blue haired and blue-eyed. Color of the week, evidently. You need something?” he asks, more laughter in his voice. This guy is obviously happy about the hunting.
“I wanted to see if you could track someone down for me.”
“Text the details.”
“You sure? You’re busy and I want the details fast.”
“I’ll have some dead time comin’ up soon before I start a surveillance gig tonight. If you can wait three or four hours, send me the details. I’ll see what I can do. If you need it now, you’re on your own.”
“All right man. A couple hours works. Happy hunting.”
He chuckles. “Oh yeah, there’s gonna be a happy ending.”
I end the call with a shake of my head.
I don’t wanna know.
Or I’m kinda curious, but I’m sure I’ll find out more later.
I text him:
Jada Miller, NJ. Prob 23-26 years old. Possibly Rahway NJ area. Father Richard Miller – late fifties or early sixties, I’m guessing. Brother Shane Miller (currently incarcerated). If you can get me Jada’s father’s address ASAP that’d be great.
And then I have a eureka and login to the HR server for work and pull up her employee file. I send Jude her social security number and her date of birth.
Three hours later he replies with an address.
I write back.
Me: Thanks man. Appreciated. Send me a bill.
Jude: I know who that girl is from overhearing Ally and Carly talk about her. The girls were planning to get involved to match you two up but said nature took its course fast once Carly insisted you two cohabitate. She was bragging to Ally and your sister. It’s a freebie. Took me two minutes. Good luck. You want a full investigation on her? I’ll take 50% off – F&F rate for you, bro.
Me: Not right now but thanks.
Good to know I get the friends and family rate if I find myself in need of Jude’s services.
47
Jada
Today, I got ahold of my brother’s friend Sedgewick, finally, and we moved my things to a storage locker. I shuddered when I saw that indeed, I’d have been living with not only that six-foot python, but also with Gramma the tarantula if I’d stayed there. And a giant seventy-odd year-old free-range tortoise named Koopa who was known for biting exposed toes, so people were advised not to walk around with open-toed footwear.
People had been sitting on my couch and using some of my boxes to sit on. A box of mine marked dishes/fragile had been rifled through and three of my white coffee mugs were sitting on the overflowing coffee table with the dregs of drinks and some cigarette butts in one of them. I was glad to get my things out of there.
Sedge wouldn’t take money for gas or let me buy a case of beer, but he told me he would definitely be calling me soon, asking to take me out or to come to a party at the warehouse.
I told him I wasn’t in the headspace for dating and he laughed it off and told me not to worry about it too much and that he’d give me a bit of time.
No thank you.
I’m still numb from my phone call with Austin where I spewed too much.
The truth? The idea of him coming to see me and saying all the right things would be incredible. But I already know Carly yelled at him; she admitted that to me. And I’m embarrassed about that, though I didn’t even give Carly crap because it’s obvious she just cares. I suspect Austin’s feeling pity for me right now, suspecting I caught feelings and maybe he’s just figuring he’ll try and see if he has any.
But truthfully, that’s not what I want, because I don’t want him making room for me and my feelings when that’s not what he wants. I don’t want him acting like boyfriend material when he really prefers to keep things casual. That wouldn’t be organic and it’s going to mean eventual resentment. He told me he couldn’t handle things because of his complicated life and I agreed to it. I’m not going to force it now - that would undoubtedly end in heartache.
Maybe not now, but eventually he’d be ready for something real. The problem is that he’s only here another month or two anyway before he goes back to California and his boat and his pool and whatever waits for him back there. Maybe that girl having his baby.
I haven’t asked Carly about that and I won’t.
She’s been calling or texting daily, being a good friend, though being really bossy and refusing to take the money I paid back, first telling me to make sure I’m on my feet and then trying to say it’s a gift.
Honestly, I didn’t mean for her to catch wind that things with me and Austin were fucked up. She just caught me in a moment. She asked if he and I were getting along, said she got the impression from him the other week that something might be blossoming, and I burst into tears.
Last night was a shit night. I had three of dad’s bar buddies here getting drunk with him, smoking cigars and cigarettes in the house. They’d taken him to the bar when I was in the kitchen making more Rice Krispie squares for my father to bribe him into eating some broccoli. It worked the other day. Those treats always seemed to cheer him up, ever since I was ten and made my first batch by following the recipe on the cereal box. While I was melting marshmallows, they just snuck him out like it was a jailbreak and then brought the party back here a couple hours later.
I waded through a cloud of stink and kicked them all out and my father tried to kick me out again. It’s the third time since I’ve been here that he’s looked me in the eye and told me to leave. It’s also the third time I’ve told him no. It’s weird saying no to a man I was raised to never disagree with. He doesn’t like it, but that’s too bad.
He still thinks of me as this little kid, this thorn in his side, only instead of being another mouth to feed and someone who he occasionally had to sign forms for, show up to the occasional teacher interview or shell out for shoes and clothes and the occasional dose of antibiotics or some vaccination or another.
I’m now the Fun Police, trying to make him eat vegetables that aren’t breaded and deep fried, trying to get him to stop smoking and boozing, and not letting him eat ten pudding cups a day. Instead, I’m eating them. Because a) I’m sad and b) he’s a fusspot who won’t eat half the ones I bought him because they’re not the right brand.
He’s not listening to me and I’m ready to throw in the towel and leave. But I’m afraid that if I do, he’ll be dead in a year or less.
I’ve spent hours cleaning this place that’s covered in a thick film of dust, grime, and tobacco smoke. It needs to be gutted and built back up from the studs.
The yard has nothing growing, the driveway is covered in oil stains and potholes. There are shingles falling off the roof, mold on the ceiling of Shane’s old room, and the front porch is ready to cave in.
And he doesn’t care. All his cares revolve around getting drunk, eating trashy bar food when he’s out or TV dinners and drinking and smoking when he’s home in front of the TV.
I’ve thrown out newspapers from two years ago.
I’m exhausted. And emotional.
The only thing I’ve done just for myself is go out once for coffee the other morning with Andrew and that wasn’t even entirely for myself because he asked me to run through his lines. Other than that, I went to my writer’s workshop and afterwards I had a quick coffee with Raven.
Otherwise, every free moment is looking after Dad, looking after Austin’s stuff (which hasn’t been that bad, but the commute has been a pain and a half), and trying to chase down lawyers and doctors and news about Shane in between.
My brother’s lawyer is either insanely overworked or extremely lazy and the doctor currently looking after him doesn’t seem any better.
“I don’t need you babysitting me, girl,” Dad shouts as I lock the door after his friends go. “I’m a grown man and if I wanna eat fries ‘n wings for dinner and chase ‘em down with Jack ‘n Coke then that’s what I’m gonna do. I paid for this house and everything in it with my own blood ‘n sweat and if I wanna put salt on my meat and eat three puddin’ cups, I have that right. You wanna stay here, this is my house and my fuckin’ rules and that includes me havin’ whoever I want over and me decidin’ what they get to do while they’re here.”
“For the tenth time, Dad, it’s not that I want to stay here, it’s that I’m trying to help you. This place is a health hazard and if you keep eating that garbage seven days a week, you’re gonna kill yourself.”
“That’s my choice, kid.” He jerks his thumb at himself.
“I’ll stay a few more days, Dad, finish getting the inside as ship-shape as I can and then I’ll come by once a week and do some cooking and cleaning. How’s that?”
“Why the hell for?” he snaps.
“Because you’re my dad.”
He rolls his eyes. “You need to get out there ‘n live your own life. You should be shacked up, having brats of your own by now.”
“If I had a husband and kids I’d still be here right now, because you’re my father.”
“What’s that guy that came to the hospital to you? That your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“He already married? Treatin’ you like a side-piece?”
“No, Dad. That’s the guy I work for. It’s a temporary job and it comes with room and board. I told you about this. I’m gonna probably need another job in two more months; maybe I’ll get something half way between here and there so that I can-”
“Don’t bother. I’m fine.”
My father is stubborn. So stubborn.
“Should give him your doe eyes. He seems like a good guy.”
I jolt. Doe eyes? I have doe eyes?
“And where’s yer brother, anyway? He still in jail? He go to court yet?”
“He’s in the hospital. He tried to hurt himself just before you had that stroke, so he’s being carefully watched while treated. I’m trying to get his doctor changed to someone who’s willing to try to find him a better medication regimen. He still has court coming.” I lean against the wall in the doorway.
“Medication,” he scoffs.
“Don’t start, Dad.” I cross my arms.
“Hurtin’ himself. He’s just like his mother was. All fuckin’ mushy. Candy ass.”
I stare at him.
“Was?”
Dad looks at me for a second longer than he usually does, and then rolls his eyes.
“Was? What happened to her? Is she still alive?”
“Is, was, who knows what happened to her? I sure as fuck couldn’t care less. She left because she had her head in the clouds and I had two feet firmly here on planet earth.” He shrugs and changes the channel to sports.
I sigh.
“You look just like her,” he mumbles. “Thank God you’ve got better sense.”
I blink in surprise.
A backhanded compliment? That’s the closest thing to a compliment I can ever remember getting from him.
And the comment explains a lot. A lot of why he rarely looks at me when he’s talking to me. The way he just looked at me was the longest amount of eye contact I think he’s made in years.
What made them even get together? Was it her doe eyes that hypnotized him? Did they have anything in common? Was there a time when they were happy? When he was more than this miserable, neglectful, negative person? Shane and I are four years apart in age, so was there a period of bliss for them before it went bad?
I feel like I need therapy, suddenly.
I give my head a shake at the sound of the doorbell ringing to bring myself back to reality. It’s after ten o’clock. If Dad’s friends are back, I’m going to lose it.
I go to the front door and open it.
“Andrew. Oh…hey.”
He’s smiling, holding up two cups of take-out coffee.
“I got the part!” he exclaims.
“Oh my gosh! Congrats!”
He hugs me awkwardly, coffees in each hand, and then he backs up with coffee sloshing down one of his hands.
“Ouch,” he groans.
“Omigod, are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” He shakes his hand and backs up as I come outside. “I’m off tonight and figured you could probably use a decent coffee, and I was excited and had to share my news, so… I got this for you.” He passes me one.
“Oh. Um… thanks. I don’t think I can drink this, though. I’ll be up all night.”
“Shoot.” He flashes a grin. “Us night people are really societal outcasts. Sorry.”
I snicker. “I’ll heat it up in the morning. I’m sure it’ll be way better than the instant dishwater coffee my father insists is perfectly acceptable. Coffee is not coffee. Am I right?”
“So right. He doing any better?” he asks.
I shake my head. “He’s so cantankerous.” I sit down on the step and Andrew sits beside me.
It’s kind of a tight fit for us to sit side by side. Too close for comfort for me, anyway.
The other day he flagged a taxi for me after I dropped stuff off for Austin and picked up some clothes and my laptop. I guess he paid attention to the address I gave the cab driver before the car pulled away.
I’m not sure how to feel about him being here, and I’m about to stand back up to get a little bit of personal space when a car stops at the curb.
I tilt my head curiously.
Austin gets out of the back seat.
Austin? What? What on earth?
His eyes flash with anger as they bounce between me and Andrew, sitting side-by-side on my front step.
He licks his teeth behind his upper lip as he strides toward me.
I stand up.
“Hi. Um, what’s up?” I ask.
“Austin,” Andrew greets.
Austin shoots Andrew a look of annoyance. “Hey, man. Jada, can I talk to you?”
I look between the two of them.
Andrew smiles at me.
Austin’s face is on the verge of melting not just paint – concrete.
“Um, to be completely honest, you’ve both shown up here after ten o’clock at night unannounced and my father’s sitting in there in a snit, and… uh, I have stuff to do before I crash, so I’m sorry, but…gotta say goodnight to you both.”
“Come see me tomorrow,” Austin says, eyes blazing at me and his voice in that commanding Austin Groucho the Third tone. I have to fight to stand tall and not just fall to my knees at his feet. Crumbling? Submitting? No idea which it’d be. Why does looking at him hurt right now?
“I have stuff on the go tomorrow. I…”
“You need to come to the apartment and see me. It’s important,” he states. “Doesn’t matter what time. Whenever you can come. Just text when you’re on the way.”
“Let’s just do this now then.”
