Tipping my head back, I squinted at the popcorn ceiling and tried to make out shapes like I was an astrologer. Ceilingologer. Ceilologer?
“Madison, are you listening to me?”
I groaned, closing my eyes. “Yes, Dad, I’m listening.”
“You’ve been here several weeks now, there’s no reason for the dishwasher to still be broken. When was the last time you called him?”
I rolled my head forward, letting it drop, and imagined submerging myself in the sink full of soapy water. “I called last week. It’s not a big deal, I don’t mind hand washing. We don’t exactly have many dishes anyway.”
“It is a big deal, it’s his property. It’s his job to keep it in working order. You pay more than enough rent for it,” he argued, leaning against the counter next to me. Realizing he wasn’t going to drop it, I set the rag down and glanced up.
John Hartland was a large man, coming in at six-foot, two and well over two-hundred pounds. He could look menacing as hell when he wanted to as long as you didn’t know him. To me, he was just one big ass, balding teddy bear.
I twisted my body, wrapping my arms around his waist and giving him a hug, nonchalantly drying my hands on the back of his shirt. His narrow gaze told me I wasn’t as sneaky as I’d thought.
“It’s fine, Dad, I promise. I’ll call again tomorrow if you sit your butt down and relax.”
“I just care about you.”
“I know.” I smiled, stepping back and turning to finish the few dishes we’d used for dinner. We had dinner with my parents a couple times a month, taking turns hosting. On our own, Jamie and I were happy eating meatless spaghetti or sloppy joes, but I used our hosting nights as an excuse to try new meals. I actually enjoyed cooking when I had the opportunity.
A loud cheer burst from my son’s room, making both of us chuckle. My mother was currently in there playing cards, and she was similar to me in the sense that she wasn’t going to go easy on him. She was vicious. I don’t think I ever played a game where she didn’t throw down a stack of wilds and force me to draw more cards than I could hold.
My parents raised me in the Midwest up until I graduated high school, including helping me with Jamie my final years. But then my dad accepted a higher management position within his company, and they moved out here to North Carolina.
I should have moved when they did. It’s hard to imagine how my life might have ended up if I’d moved with them instead of moving in with him. But we all make dumb choices I supposed. Nothing I could do about it now.
Jamie and I had been here for a few years now, and although we’d moved a couple times, we’d always stuck to the same town my parents lived in.
I didn’t grow up around much family, and Jamie already only had my side of the family that he knew, so I wanted to make sure he stayed as close to his grandparents as possible.
“Those are some deep thoughts you got swirling around.”
I blinked, realizing I’d been standing at the sink, holding the same dish for several minutes. “Sorry, just sort of spaced out.”
“You look tired, punkin’.” He’d moved to the kitchen table and polished off the cider he’d brought with him. The fact that he could see my dark circles from there made my already suffering self-esteem deflate like a balloon, but faster. More like a whoopie cushion.
To complete the self-deprecating image I’d mentally crafted of my self-esteem’s death, I blew a long, drawn-out raspberry. I threw myself in the chair across from him, waving my hand dismissively. “That’s just what every woman wants to hear.”
He didn’t even bat an eye. He knew me too well to know when I was trying to brush off a subject. “You know what I meant. You’re working too much, Madison.”
“I’m fi—”
“Don’t bother saying you’re fine. We all know you’re doing too much when you don’t need to.” Hand it to my mother to enter a conversation with a flourish.
I looked up to see Beth Hartland standing in the hallway, giving me a mock glare. But even the severe expression couldn’t dull her beauty. With a heart-shaped face and high cheekbones, accented by her light brown straight bob, she had the type of face that instantly made you love her.
She’d been trying to convince me to take money from them for a while now. I knew they just wanted to help and didn’t care about the money, but I did. The entire idea stung.
I was paying my bills and keeping us fed. There was no reason, other than lowering the number of hours I worked, for me to accept money from them. I wasn’t so stubborn that I wouldn’t take money if I suddenly lost my jobs and couldn’t make ends meet, but thankfully, I wasn’t at that point.
“How’s Brenden?” I asked, aware my obvious turn of conversation wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Pull back a little, Madison. Let yourself focus on finishing school. It’s not healthy for you to keep doing what you’re doing. You’ve been through enough—”
I held up my hand, cutting her off when I locked eyes with the boy standing behind her. His brows were drawn down in a frown and his lips were pursed.
“Hey, bud, grandma and grandpa are going to be heading out soon, why don’t you go ahead and hop in the shower before I whoop your butt at racing tonight.”
He shuffled his feet, glancing between us, “Yeah, all right.”
Watching him walk away, I made eye contact with my mom. I knew she wouldn’t say anything else on the matter with him around. She was firm and opinionated when it was just us, but she’d never undermine or lecture me in front of Jamie.
“I know you love us, Mama. I love you too. But we’re doing okay. We’re actually pretty happy here. It’s roomier and the neighbors are quiet.” Although they might not say the same about me, I thought.
She gave me a sad smile, coming up to kiss me on the head.
“So really, how’s Brenden doing?” I asked, standing and walking them toward the door.
“He’s good. He snagged a few more gigs and is feeling pretty good. He did the sound for an event on some sports station, you’ll have to ask him about it.”
“Dang, that’s cool,” I said, honestly believing that but knowing I wouldn’t call him. I loved my brother, and I applauded how hard he’d worked for his dream job, but we just weren’t super close.
Brenden was three years older than me and living in Los Angeles. He’d gone to school for film, and as soon as he’d graduated, he’d promptly moved to the west coast to work his way up. He hadn’t made it big yet, but he’d made several connections, and I was proud of him.
We chatted for a few more minutes before they left, my dad promising to make my favorite meal next time if I promised to call the landlord. I didn’t need any more motivation than that. Fried potatoes were the key to my heart.
As I watched them pull out of my drive, I caught sight of something on the ground near the property’s mailboxes. Like someone had thrown a pile of trash out of their car window while they’d driven past. Irritated, I walked down the steps, carefully tiptoeing around nature’s confetti. The last thing I needed was a stick stabbing me through my bright orange socks.
It was the neighbor’s mail. The flap to his mailbox had been left down, and his mail scattered across the ground beneath it. Either the man rarely emptied his mailbox, or he was a big receiver of credit card offers and grocery sale fliers, because it was one heck of a pile.
I cocked my head, staring at it. To anyone watching me, I probably looked like an idiot who’d never seen a letter before, but I found it odd. I was sure it wasn’t uncommon for a postal worker to not shut the box all the way, but for it to all fall out?