The Right Move Read online

  I walk into the back where Alexa is hard at work, (as usual) icing a cake that is taking on the shape of a princess dress. She has her back turned to me, and I don’t want to scare her, so I clear my throat announce myself.

  She spins around, covered in icing and flour and grins as wide as the ocean. “Hey Mason!” She said and leans in to give me a hug but then quickly recoils sheepishly as she realizes she’s practically wearing every cake ingredient.

  “I’d hug you but…well, you know.” She giggles and gestures to her torso.

  “It’s not a problem,” I laugh and give her a friendly smile. “It’s good to see you, cuz.”

  She wipes her forehead, thus spreading more of the buttercream onto her head.

  “Uh…” I chuckle and reach up to wipe it away. “You just have a little…”

  “Oh, right.” She shakes her head as if she’s a complete scatterbrain and does the job for me. “What can I say, this girl is one tired lady.” I admire her ability to poke fun at herself.

  “So,” she says and gets back to the task at hand, using a thin and fancy looking spatula type utensil to spread a smooth coating of the icing on the cake. “What brings you over to my side of the tracks?”

  “Well,” I take a deep breath and sigh. “I kind of need to ask a little favor of you.”

  She glances at me. “Sure, of course…you name it and it’s yours.”

  I laugh and lean against the metal counter surface in the baking kitchen, folding my arms. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  She tosses me a smirk as if to advise me that she considers me absolutely harmless. “So, what’s this enormous favor you need?”

  “Can I get one of your crates of water?” I ask, cutting to the chase. I wish I could tell her the reason why I need to have one is because my idiot of a manager is so damn clueless he can’t even order the proper supply stock.

  “Of course you can,” she says, deep in concentration as she spreads the layer of icing around the cake. Her tongue is out, her careful precision meter.

  “I’ll pay you back for it,” I promise her.

  She gives me a funny look. “Mase, there’s no need for all that.”

  “You’re the best,” I confess and give her a happy grin. “Thanks so much Alexa.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” she tells me with a wink. “Help yourself to a cupcake on the shelf if you want when you leave,” she nods in the direction of the shop counter.

  Just as I suspected, she’s willing to share her goodies with me for free.

  “Thanks,” I tell her gratefully. “They look delicious.”

  “That’s because they are!” she sing-songs as I walk away.

  When I walk out from the kitchen, it’s no surprise to me that Alexa’s barista Keesha is standing at the register counter blabbing about another customer they had. From what I can hear, it was some old lady that was a regular in the shop and passed away recently.

  Keesha is your typical teenager, always running her mouth and discussing ridiculously limited topics like clothes and boys. She has a crush on me, which I find cute in a non-sexual type of way. First of all, she’s way too young to me. I don’t know her exact age, but I know she’s still in high school, which is not fair game for a twenty-four-year-old man like me.

  Secondly, although she’s friendly and kind to everyone, always chatty, her topics of conversations usually entail trivial material things that just don’t interest me. I’d rather sit on my dock with a cold beer and listen to nature than one of her boring stories about the mall.

  I tell her hi, but can’t wave due to the water crate I’m holding. Keesha beams and waves with animation. She’s sassy and amusing, definitely someone you could watch just for sheer entertainment purposes. Luckily for me, she’s engaging with a bakery patron and can’t slide over to me for endless conversations to where I’d never get out before sunset.

  Right before I get to the door to exit, Alexa calls out to me. “Hey Mason, could you hold up a second?”

  I turn around. “Sure Alexa, what’s up?”

  She breezily comes up to stand next to me. “Well, I have a favor to ask you too actually…” she trails off as if she’s uncomfortable.

  “Okay,” I say. “Sure, what is it?”

  “Would it be alright with you if I hosted book club at your place this week? You see, it’s my turn and I don’t have a proper area at home to do it.”

  She looks pitifully at the ground. I can’t say no to her. She’s my cousin, and she’s been good to me. How could I possibly deny her anything when I’m standing here holding water shipments she’s paid for out of her own pocket?

  Even still, I become slightly annoyed. Maybe it’s because today hasn’t been the best for me, and I’m irritated that nobody ever cares to ask me how I’m doing or how my day went. Everybody wants a hand out, but nobody ever seems to care about me.

  I keep these grudges to myself as I smile at her. “It’s fine if you want to bring people over.”

  Alexa’s shoulders sigh with immediate relief. “Thank you so much Mason. I promise, we won’t be loud or obnoxious. We won’t make a mess and if we do, I’ll be right there to clean up after everyone leaves.”

  “No problem,” I tell her, then look back across the street. “I need to be heading out now,” I say.

  “Of course,” she nods. “Sorry, I don’t mean to hold you up or anything.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I respond and head out the door, back in the direction that I came toward my bike shop.

  On the walk over, I’m still feeling a little exasperated. The last thing I need is to come home after a hard day’s work where I just want to relax and indulge myself in whatever quiet, peaceful activity I want to participate in and find it full of clucking 20-something women.

  I find it ludicrous when they swoon all over a romance novel that’s made of unfair and unrealistic fairy tale type garbage. To me, it just gets women’s hopes up that they’ll find the perfect soul mate and will live happily ever after. Sure, it works out for some of them but in my opinion, most of the time a relationship winds up in flames long before it ever started.

  Doesn’t matter though. I feel the compelling need to constantly appease Alexa because her mom, my aunt, died of cancer and somehow, I feel like the responsibility to take care of her falls on my shoulders. I’ll happily be annoyed if it makes her day better.

  At least there’s one positive end to my day…I got to enjoy a delicious cupcake.

  Chapter 6

  Pushing the curtains open in the living room at grandma’s, I groan in frustration. So, I guess I can’t blame my insomnia and sheet rustling restlessness on the little crescent moon. The tiny sliver in the black night sky is hardly enough to luminate the earth below, and in its place there lies a scattering of stars twinkling in the dome of the atmosphere, covering grandma’s lot like a blanket.

  I slug back to my bedroom, dramatically shuffling to the door as I heave myself onto the bed, collapsing face down. I groan again, my voice muffled by the mattress which is currently pressing into my lips. I toss the sheets aside and pull the chain on the fan. It’s too damn hot in here.

  Rolling over, I blow a strand of hair off my face and glance up at the ceiling fan blades as they spin on full blast, blurring into a unit of conformity, becoming one circle shape as they work tirelessly to cool my body. Becoming captivated by the lull of the fan speed, I’m entranced into a slightly more pacifying temperament within a few minutes.

  It’s Sunday, and I’m tired of fretting over my unfortunate situation with my uncle. Tomorrow begins a new week and I know I have no other choice but to throw in the towel and move back in with my dad. Of course, this is the most humiliating idea ever, but I’ve been lying awake all night, desperately brainstorming alternate options to no avail.

  I hate the concept of having to crawl back to a father who never wanted me in the first place. My mind exposes the darkest and most cringe worthy scenarios of how this little conversa
tion is going to go down, and I’m sure it will be one for the history books.

  On the other hand, perhaps my father is incapable of love, blinded by his annoying and overbearing wife who manipulates him and controls him. Maybe he’s just so heartbroken over the loss of my mother that he can’t even bear the idea of looking at me because I have too many features and qualities of his beloved deceased wife.

  It’s the middle of the night, and I could mull over the different webs of theories forever but I’ll never know the truth. Maybe my dad loves me, maybe he doesn’t. Either way, he’s my only hope of not being homeless.

  Determined to not allow this little setback to derail me from enjoying a wonderful life in my future, I do my best to perceive it as a minor road block and a hurdle that eventually I’ll have no problem jumping over. For now, I have to climb and venture into unwanted territory, because I have no other solutions on the horizon.

  As I contemplate the new direction that I’m going to be forced into, it’s not long before my heavy eyes succumb to sleep, and my cloudy mind finds peaceful release…if only for a few hours.

  ***

  When I wake up the next morning, I’m even more exhausted than the day before, but adrenaline quickly picks me up and throws me into uncertainty when I realize my time is up. I have to make the dreaded call to my father before my uncle kicks me to the curb…literally.

  Whether I like it or not, I pick up my phone and dial the number to my dad’s house. My heart pounds like the drumline of a marching band and my palms are so sweaty that my phone nearly slips out of them. I take a deep breath, ready to morph into my best attempt at a groveling voice but to my relief, he doesn’t answer.

  Neither does his big-boobed wife. I sigh and plop down on the couch, needing at least five minutes to climb down from that rush of anxiety. My hands are still shaking as I prop my arms on my elbows and glance at my phone.

  I should have left a message.

  I can’t call back now, he’ll think that I’m crazy or something, that is if he’s screening my call. This is going to end exponentially painful for me, and my shoulders sag in defeat. I mean, I can understand where my uncle is coming from. Well, maybe only slightly.

  He needs to earn some income but why do I have to be the whipping boy, metaphorically speaking? There’s no substantial reason why he just has to kick me out before I’m even able to find another place to live first. Besides, he’s a deadbeat who mooches off of his exhausted wife so if anything, he’s contradicting his own lack of values by telling me I have to pay an astronomical amount of money just to live in my grandma’s house after she’s gone.

  I walk to the mailbox, needing to recuperate with a batch of fresh air. I never officially moved out of dad’s house. Well…not really, that is. Traipsing down memory lane today, I think back to when I first began to help Grandma out. I would pack a few boxes for a couple of days…then I’d wander back to dad’s place for a day or so.

  Then, driving back to Grandma’s house, I’d have another few items that I discovered I needed and didn’t have on hand over at her place.

  Eventually, those cluster of small valuables dwindled down to nothing at Dad’s, and soon I had everything I need in stock at Grandma’s until I never had to go back to Dad’s to retrieve anything else.

  Before I even realized what had happened, I had officially, unofficially moved in with grandma. I run an exasperated hand through my hair and stare at the pine trees lining the property. I wish there was a way to stay in her house, drinking in the memories until her smell finally faded away.

  I love being tucked away in a secluded section of town. The privacy gives me ample time to think, reflect and have a peaceful quality of life. Now, who knows what fate would stir the pot over at my dad’s house…that is…if he even allowed me to come running back at all.

  I am twenty-two years old now, so it’s not like he’s under any obligation to provide for me or pay child support. I’m an adult, and I should learn to fend for myself. If I hadn’t taken the fork in the road to care for Grandma, perhaps I’d be halfway there to earning my teaching degree.

  Life is funny like that, and I still don’t regret my extra time with Grandma, treasuring each memory as if it’s a stepping stone to where I might meet up with her later on in the afterlife. I walk back inside and lock the door behind me. I’m not giving Uncle Marshall any leeway or heads up to barge in on me a second time.

  I push open my laptop and type in the address for Facebook. I scroll through my friends list until I find Melinda’s name. Maybe if I can’t get through to my dad, I have a shot at Melinda answering a message. She’s always posting jokes, memes and viral videos on her feed, so I know she will see my cry for help.

  If she ignores me, I’ll know it’s deliberate and I’ll have to shift my quest in another direction. Hoping it doesn’t come to that, I take another deep breath. Here goes nothing.

  Hi Melinda, I type out with shaky hands. I know it’s been a while since I talked to you guys but…

  I lean back in the chair at the kitchen table and stare blankly at the screen. The mouse curser blinks incessantly as I stare at it, unable to formulate another sentence. I’m not a fan of Melinda, and I hate having to suck up to her in any capacity. I shake my head and press on. If not, I’m going to be homeless in a few days. In the end, I opt to keep the conversation short, so that there is no room for judgement on her part.

  Anyway, could you have my dad call me? I’m having a difficult time getting in touch with him. Thanks!

  I add a smiley faced emoji at the end, so that she won’t get the wrong idea, and maybe…if I’m lucky enough she’ll pass the message along to my dad. To keep my mind busy and occupied, I decide that my next course of action will be to start packing my stuff into boxes.

  That way, if my dad agrees to let me move back home for a little while, I’ll already be prepared. The end result will be the same, so I might as well approach the tedious task with whatever motivation I can rustle out from the cobwebs of my mind.

  I pull a picture of me and grandma off my dresser, feeling a burst of nostalgia barrel through me like a kick in the gut. I smile reflectively, remembering back to a time when we had so much fun together. In the picture, we are sitting on grandma’s front porch. Our laps are adorned by a sizable portion of cherry pie and we have enormous grins on our faces.

  The happiness in the photo is so infectious, that I find myself grinning from ear to ear while I absentmindedly wipe a single tear off my cheek. I walk to the kitchen and grab my favorite shell ornament off the fridge, a beloved gift from grandma one time when she went to the gulf coast for a seaside retreat with friends.

  I clutch the magnet to my heart and inhale sharply before delicately placing it into my suitcase. By the time I realize I’m all packed up, I place my hands on my hips and assess what all I have to lug back to my dad’s.

  In the middle of the living room floor, my final count of belongings is a modestly sized suitcase and three grey Rubbermaid boxes. So that’s it, my life can officially fit into a sedan car and it’s all I have to show for as I face eviction by my own blood relative.

  I heat up a lasagna frozen dinner, but it’s bland. It doesn’t matter anyway, I can hardly taste it because I’m so nervous about my future. I wash my single fork and the cup I used for my milk and place them on the drying rack. Glancing outside, nightfall has already spread across the canvas of the sky.

  I change into pajamas, a tank top and a pair shorts that have tiny dog bones all over them. Right before I decide to let go of any hope that my father is going to call me back, my cell phone rings. I’m so startled by the noise that I jump at least a foot in the air before recovering and jogging to where I left my phone on the kitchen table.

  I swallow hard and hold my breath as I look at the screen. It’s my dad. He decided to call me back.

  “Hi, Dad,” I greet him in a bright and cheerful tone.

  His voice is flat when he responds. “Olivia,” he says, and
dread fills my spirit. He never calls me by my formal name unless it’s to reprimand me about something.

  “So,” I say and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, pacing the hallway. “Did you get my message?”

  “I got a message from Melinda that you are trying to reach me,” he says.

  “Right,” I respond with a nervous chuckle. “Um, listen Dad…I uh…need to ask you a little favor.”

  My dad sounds impatient when he answers. “I’m a little busy here Olivia, what is it?”

  His gruffness doesn’t do my self-confidence about this situation any favors, but I decide to just blurt it out and get it over with. He’s my dad after all.

  “Uncle Marshall found a tenant for Grandma’s house,” I begin. “He’s kicking me out. Is it okay if I temporarily move back in with you?”

  I’m met with crickets on the other end of the line, for so long that I have to ask my dad if he’s still there.

  “Livi, it’s not going to work out right now…it’s just not a good time.”

  “Oh…” I whisper, collapsing internally.

  “Melinda and I sold the house a year ago. We are living in an RV right now. We are traveling the world, trying to life live to the fullest before our numbers are up. We just don’t have the space for you, and we aren’t in town anyway.”

  “Okay…I understand.” I hang up before the well of tears explodes like lava spilling down an active volcano.

  I’m furious. How could my dad just write me off as if I didn’t even exist? I’m his daughter, but judging by the way he treats me you would never even know it. After hanging up, I search the internet, frantically trying to find an apartment to rent but they are all exorbitantly over the budget I had in mind. I only have six hundred dollars in my bank account which wouldn’t last a day out in the real world.

  I’m totally screwed, and allow myself to shake with the built up sobs that somehow ironically help me to vent out my frustration and despair. While I’m researching places to live, a Facebook bubble message pops up on my messenger. It’s from Alexa, the sweet and bubbly bakery shop owner.