“Around five? Hey, JJ?”
“Mmm hmm,” JJ helped. “Usually five-ish.”
“Good to know. Well, nice meeting you guys.” He must have started walking away because I heard the door start closing before JJ really pushed it too far.
“So what did you want with our Sera this morning?” he asked.
“I came to see if she wanted to drive to work together.”
I heard the door close and within two seconds they were both next to me again.
“Oh God, he’s gorgeous!” JJ exclaimed.
“That suit,” Bruce added. “He looks like he’s from the fifties or something—”
“Except for those tattoos,” JJ corrected.
“And haircut,” Bruce added again.
“WOW!” JJ and Bruce said together.
JJ sat down and fanned himself dramatically. “And he wanted to drive you to work.”
“I have no idea why?” I was genuinely puzzled.
“It’s because you’re a hottie,” Bruce said putting his arm around me. “And we are going to live vicariously through you.”
“I’msonot his type, though,” I said—and I meant it. His interest in me, even if it was all some kind of joke, was rather disconcerting. “I’m not some cool creative advertising chick. I’m just, normal.”
“I don’t know,” JJ said. “He looked genuinely disappointed when we said you weren’t here.”
I shot JJ an incredulous look before I left to get ready for another awkward day at work.
11. Run-Of-The-Mill Man-Whore . . .
It took four tries that morning to start my car, and I had a sinking feeling that she was going to pack it in and call it a day pretty soon. The petrol tank was also dangerously low. And just to add a little extra worry to the morning—on top of the whole strange Ben thing—I got an SMS from my sister:
Katie: Dad broke into the house this morning and found the money you sent me!
That terrible plunging feeling formed in the pit of my stomach. It always formed at any mention of my father. In all my twenty-four years, the most shocking thing that had ever happened to me, the day my world fell apart, was the morning the bank and the police showed up at our house.
Apparently, we were being evicted.
My dad was out, as usual. We all knew where he was—that wasn’t a secret. My mom looked shell-shocked, as usual. It was an expression she’d worn on her face for as long as I can remember. I was fifteen at the time and my younger sister was only eight. I remember how terrified she was.
The bank was repossessing our house and my father had been aware of it for over six months. He hadn’t bothered to mention to his family that he’d gambled the entire house away and spent the rest on prostitutes—we all knew he slept with them after a “big win.”
They hauled us all out onto the pavement in front of all the neighbors while locks were changed and furniture was moved out. By the time they were all done, we were left with only our clothes, a few personal possessions, and an old rusty caravan that smelled of cheap perfume.
A ball of anxiety formed as I responded to my sister:
Sera: Bastard. Did you call the cops on him?
Katie: I tried. Mom stopped me.
Another ball of anxiety formed. My mother was a huge part of the problem, still supporting my dad even though he was constantly unfaithful and had ruined all of our lives. Worse, I knew the implications of his latest theft. I sighed again.
Sera: When do you need to buy your textbooks?
