I follow Bradley out through the parking garage and over to visitor parking. He reaches into his navy-blue dress pants and pulls out a weird looking key. Two chirps echo in the nearby vicinity, and then I see the glow of lights flicker from behind a pickup truck.
My eyes go wide when I spot his car. “Is that an Aston Martin?” I almost choke on my question. I can only assume he’s selling drugs on the side.
“Sure is,” he says. “I know what you’re probably thinking, but it’s worth the cost.”
“Yeah, so is my invisible car.”
“Things will pick up once you get a job out here. Don’t worry.” I thought by getting my college degree, all the other parts would fall into place for me. I was so wrong.
Me? Worry? Why would I? I couldn’t get a job in Connecticut, so I should have higher hopes for the state, in which, I’m becoming a resident. I open the passenger side door and plummet into the slip-and-slide party of this brown-leather deep-bucket seat.
The ride is smooth, noiseless, and quick. Just as Bradley said, the Starbucks is across the street, and before I’ve blinked a few times, we’re in park, facing the floor to ceiling windows of the green and brown coffee shop. I wonder if they’re watching us right now or what their first impression of me will be.
It takes every muscle in my stomach to lurch my body out of the low car. I must look like I’m falling out of an overfilled clown-mobile. So, hopefully, they’re watching. This is me. Ashley Spencer, Grade A Klutz, but still #winningatlife.
“I should have asked earlier, but the apartment has furnishings, right? You were living there before, you said?”
“Yes, it’s furnished. Everything is modern. I think you’ll like it.”
Bradley has never had exquisite taste per se, but apparently, he can now decipher between a high-quality pair of pants and those from the Walmart men’s department That’s also new to me. He never cared about fashion or pricey items, but I almost fell out of his Aston Martin. I think it’s safe to say I don’t know who my brother has become.
Bradley opens the door to Starbucks and holds it open for me to walk in.Also, new. Back in the day, he’d walk in first and let the door hit me in the face, big brother style. “When did you become such a pleasant person?” I ask him.
“Blame Katarina. I guess she has the magic touch—"
“Stop. No touching. Please.”
I spot three women off to the side of the nearly-empty Starbucks.
No.
Come on.
This is a joke.
A quick intermission note
When I look in the mirror, I’m happy with the way I look. I’ve spent years growing my ashy-blonde highlighted amber hair out, so it curls and hangs in a celebrity style fashion. I watch what I eat and run daily to maintain my slim figure because I haven’t met Mr. Right yet, and I’m in my prime. I’m also five-one, and a pound for me is like ten to a taller person. Other than that, I’m more of an au-natural type—freckly with rosy cheeks, and leprechaun green eyes to boot. Despite knowing I could die a single woman, I don’t feel the need to look the part of the golden, single-gem ready to be snatched up. I’ll settle for the last pick at a kickball game. In any case, I fit in, but I don’t stand out.
Three brunettes with perfectly smooth, shiny hair, resting halfway down their backs. They’re seated, but I can tell they’re tall by their structure and the way they all have their bare legs crossed diagonally beneath the table. They could be triplets.
None of them are smiling or talking with one another. The women look a little robotic as a matter-of-fact. I don’t think I’ve ever sat up as straight as they’re sitting.
As we come closer to their table, one of them lifts her coffee and takes a sip. So, they move. That’s something.
“Katarina,” Bradley calls out.
The pod person swivels in her seat as if she has a broken neck. I think someone might have cued a spotlight too because her face is glowing. Maybe it’s just my imagination. Her skin is flawless, lightly tanned. Her make-up is less natural than what I wear, but still modest. She smiles as if on cue. Her smile must be fake. No one’s teeth are that white or straight. Why does she want Bradley? I feel my eyes narrow into a squint as I wander through my last thought.
The other two girls don’t turn around. It’s as if they weren’t summoned, so they avoid doing so. Weird.
Katarina stands from her chair. She’s easily five-foot-ten, but she’s wearing four-inch stilettos. “This is my little sister, Ashley,” Brad introduces me.
Katarina holds her hand out, but in a way that her knuckles are pointing at me. Does she want me to kiss her hand? No thanks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She speaks too, and I suppose that’s anothersomething.
“Same,” I reply, cupping my fingertips under hers, awkwardly, to shake and not kiss her hand.
“These are my sisters, Kricket and Krow,” she says, waving her hand at the table.
