Page 24 of Pretty and Loco

I smiled because she had no idea that I’d make her eat what was on the stove while it was still on the burner.

“Is it not obvious that I’m his chef?”

“Is it? I couldn’t tell. You have that stringy ass weave uncovered over my man’s pots, long ass acrylics, and you look like you just came from the gym.” I chuckled.

“Your man?” She scoffed.

She was trying to get under my skin. But I already knew what this was. The way she dressed, the fact that she was standing here giving me an attitude. I knew the look of a woman who wanted a man, and if I didn’t, I was staring it right in the face. She confirmed my suspicions when she responded only to the fact that I said he was my man, but ignored that I had just questioned her professionalism.

“Yes. Do me a favor and go ahead and leave, before I call security to escort you out. You’re fired. We’re in California; I’m sure I can find any random in athleisure wear to overseason that stuffed chicken.”

“I’ve been this man’s chef for four years. You cannot fire me.” She scoffed, testing my patience.

“I absolutely can fire whoever the fuck I don’t want in my house,” I responded. The moment I had to practice my grounding exercises was the moment that I knew she had better leave, and fast.

“Your house?”

“Mi casa bitch. I live here now… toodaloo. Goodbye. Sayonara.” I said as she turned off the burner, grabbed her purse off the counter, and headed toward the front door with an attitude.

When she left, I took the pots of half-cooked food she had left, filled them with cold water, and put them in the trash. We no longer needed her services. She didn’t have an apron, a hair net, or measuring cups. Nothing. Just attitude, and parsley. Good riddance.

I went upstairs and grabbed my phone before going back down so I could read the menu on the fridge for his meal prep today.

I ordered all the groceries he requested and also grabbed a few things I liked. If I was going to be spending as much time here as I was, I had to get some real food. Not this clean-eating, low-carb, sports regimen he was on. I was fiending for some potato chips or some candy like a crackhead. He had nothing sweet here.

After I placed the grocery delivery order, I went back upstairs to throw on my own loungewear so I could cook his meals for the week before I drove back home. Daya had been texting and calling me nonstop.

She worked nights, so she would be asleep preparing for her shift or already at work when I came home and grabbed a change of clothes. She said she needed to lay eyes on me, and I knew she meant it. I wanted to finish the food early enough to get home before she left.

The groceries came surprisingly quickly, and I put everything away. I had snacks galore, and I knew that Rock was probably going to talk shit about me ordering it, but I didn’t mind.

I also ordered some flavored drinks because this water wasn’t going to cut it.

It was 10 a.m., and I was so sugar-deprived I caught myself eating a peanut butter cookie while I cooked his meals.

I spent the next two hours baking chicken, fish, and shrimp. I made mashed potatoes, broccoli, asparagus, and brown rice. By the time I waited for the food to cool and plated everything up, it was a little after noon.

I heard the front door open, and I thought it was the chef. I had taken it easy on her earlier. Now I was sweaty, and I’m sure the smell of food was stuck to my hair and clothing, because I had to do her job. So it wasn’t the right time to test me.

But it wasn’t the “chef”; three other women came in with cleaning supplies. Then I remembered he told me that he had cleaners come through once a week.

They each gave me a different version of a greeting. I wasn’t insecure at all. They were pretty, but the difference between them and the “chef” was that they didn’t seem bothered by my presence, even if they didn’t expect it.

“Hey,” I said as I walked back into the kitchen for one final inspection. To clean the area that I had used and make sure everything was turned off.

I wasn’t going to kick them out. While my mother had certainly taught me cleanliness, this was a lot of house, and I wasn’t going to be the one to say I could clean it. So, I made a mental note to be out for a while so I could stay out of their way.

I headed home, dreading the drive I knew would take up most of my day. I wasn’t going to make it back home until 3 p.m., and depending on how long Dayari and I spent together, that meant that I wouldn’t be back in Santa Clara until probably 8 p.m., or later.

When I made it home, Dayari’s car wasn’t even parked in the driveway.

I took out the phone and called her.

“Where are you, Daya?” I asked as soon as she answered.

“I just woke up and wanted to go get a pedicure before I start my shift tonight.”

“That sounds good. I’m at the house. I’ll meet you there. Tell Sarah to hold a spot for me.” I said as I ran inside to shower really quickly and swap out my bag of clothing.