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In comes my roommate Bianca, known by everyone, except her parents, as B. She comes rushing in like the glorious storm she is, all color and excitement. She’s an artist and is currently working at a small gallery downtown. I can’t imagine her sitting down to do an office job every day. It’s not in her DNA. She needs fresh air and freedom to express herself.
Following closely behind Bianca is my other roommate, Violet. If Bianca is a summer storm, then Violet is a quiet December snowfall. These two could not be more opposite. The three of us have been roommates for years and while Bianca and I have graduated and moved into the workforce, Violet stayed and is getting her master’s degree in Comparative Literature. That girl enjoys nothing more than an evening sitting quietly with a book and a glass of wine. I love both of them to death.
“Hollie!” Bianca shouts, even though I’m sitting about five feet from her. “Well?” She has an expectant look on her face and the energy is practically radiating off of her. I think she may actually be bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Well, what?” I play stupid, trying to hide my smile. I love to rile Bianca up. She says it’s the Italian blood running through her that gives her personality that touch of spice.
“Don’t you start with me, Hollie Simmons! ‘Well’, the job? Did you get it?”
My face breaks out into a huge grin as I confirm for them both that I did indeed land a job. They both rush over to me and the next thing I know, I’m being smothered to death with hugs.
“I’m so happy for you, Hollie,” Violet says, being the first to extract herself from the pile of hugging arms and legs on the sofa. “I knew you would get something eventually. You’re too smart and talented not to.”
I give her a grin and squeeze her hand. Violet is definitely the sweet one of the group. “Actually,” I say, straightening my top from where it’s ridden up on my stomach from our impromptu mosh pit, “it’s not a marketing job. There weren’t any openings.” Bianca’s face falls immediately, so I’m quick to add, “but I got a job as Archer Clarke’s personal assistant and it’s even more money than the marketing job. Plus, he said I could transfer over after I learned the ropes of the business.”
Bianca lets out a squeal. “That’s even better! Plus, you get to work with that hot piece of ass, Archer Clarke!”
“B, he’s my boss, you can’t say that!”
“Why not? He is, you can’t deny it.” She turns to Violet and lifts her eyebrow.
“Totally hot,” Violet confirms with a small smile touching her lips.
The blush on my cheeks runs down my chest, giving away my unease. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hadn’t noticed. He’s just a guy like any other. I’m concentrating on the work.”Thou doth protest too much, Hollie.
“Sure,” she says, not buying it for a second. “I’m sure you’ll be running that place in no time.” She nods her head like it’s all set. Bianca has proclaimed it, so it shall be done.
I laugh and shake my head at her. “I’m not so sure about that, but I’m excited. My mom called and she’s behind on the rent again and Paige needs some school supplies, so I should be able to send them money as soon as my first paycheck comes in.”
Bianca’s face turns serious and even Violet is sporting a tiny frown. I let out a sigh. Here we go.
“Hollie, you can’t do everything for your mom,” Bianca says, as if it’s that easy. “You don’t owe her anything. The fact she’s still guilt tripping you is ridiculous.”
Violet chimes in with, “She’s right, Hollie. I mean, it’s great to help take care of Paige and I’m not saying you shouldn’t, but your mother might be taking advantage of you.”
This is nothing I haven’t heard from either of them before. I know how they feel, but they know my stance on this as well. “Come on you two, what happens if I don’t help with the rent? It won’t just be my mom out on the street, it will be Paige too.”
Bianca crosses her arms over her ample chest, “I’m just saying—” I hold up a hand, stopping her from going on. I’m not in the mood to hear this again. Sure, my mom is probably asking too much of me, but what am I supposed to do? She’s my mom.
“Enough about my mom.” The only way out of this conversation is to change the subject. “What’s going on this weekend? You realize it’s my last one before I’m a real working woman?” Bianca reaches into her bag and pulls out a baguette and a bottle of white wine, presenting them to me like they are the Crown Jewels.
“Tonight,” she exclaims happily, “we feast on wine, bread, and cheese to celebrate your new gainful employment. Oh also, I’m having brunch with my dad on Sunday and he wants you guys to join us.”
“Of course,” I say without hesitation. I owe Mr. Moreno for getting me the interview, and I can’t wait to thank him. Plus, he’s let us stay in this house, one of his rental properties, for years, free of charge. Frankly, without his help, I would have tucked my tail and run back to Milford a long time ago. There’s no way l could have survived here on what I made working at the bookstore part-time. I’m also acutely aware that living here rent free isn’t something that I can count on forever. Mr. Moreno could change his mind at any moment and we would be out of a place to live. This is a fantastic house in a safe neighborhood. Why wouldn’t he want to collect rent on it? It’s not like we have a lease or anything.
We both glance over at Violet, whose eyes are focused on the floor. She looks up and I notice a slight redness in her cheeks. I hope she’s not getting sick. She has a ton of work to do for her graduate program. “No problem, I’ll be there,” she states quietly.
“How about we open up that wine and get down to business?” I grab the bottle from Bianca’s hand and head over to the kitchen to grab a corkscrew and three glasses.
We spend the rest of the evening watching bad TV shows, gorging on cheese, and drinking a bit too much wine.
∞
The weekend passes in a blur of cleaning, laundry, and stressing about my new job. Before I know it, it’s Sunday morning and the three of us are seated at the Singing Lark for brunch, waiting for Mr. Moreno, who is running a few minutes late. It’s one of the nicer restaurants in the area and I feel guilty because he always insists on picking up the tab.
We’re sitting around, drinking bottomless mimosas, and chatting about life, when Bianca jumps up and waves her arms. “Dad! We’re over here!” Dante Moreno comes sauntering over to us with a bright smile on his face and scoops Bianca into a bear hug. “Hey Bianca, how was your week?” he asks. They are chatting with each other while moving to their chairs across from Violet and me, and I can’t help assuage the stab of jealousy inside.
I don’t begrudge Bianca the relationship with her father. After her parents divorced when Bianca was two, her dad tried to keep in touch with her even though they lived hours apart. Since she’s moved back to Seattle, he’s done everything he could to become an active participant in her life. Unlike my father.
