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“You live here?”
“Yup.” I hop out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”
Grabbing my bag from the driver, I rush up the paved pathway that’s crumbling in spots to my bright yellow front door. Every house on the block has a colorful door. I was the one who suggested it, and most people didn’t seem to mind when I went around painting their doors. It gives the dreary, rundown neighborhood some character. If I could convince the neighborhood kids to stop spray-painting swear words on them, it would be great.
Unlocking the door, I step inside. I think I’m safe until the door swings open behind me. Jafar stands there, looking around with disgust. I try to view the room from his perspective. The living room is small but smells like cherries thanks to my air-infuser. My only furniture is a chair near the fireplace. The kitchen is compact, too, but I managed to get a table by the window so I can look out while I have coffee in the mornings. The walls used to be white at one point in time. Lord knows I’ve tried to scrub the walls clean. I’ve asked my landlord if I can paint, but he won’t let me, so I’m stuck with the yellowish color left from years of nicotine.
“Does Jasmine know you’re living in a dump?”
“Wow. That’s a bit rude.”
“Well?”
“Why would Jasmine care where I live? It’s not like she’s ever bothered to visit me. For the record, it’s not a dump. It hascharacter.”
I mean it, too. I know the house needs a lot of work, and if the owner ever gives in and lets me buy the house from him, I have a lot of ideas on how to fix it. Every time I ask, he says no, so I’m left making tiny repairs here and there. Like the fireplace mantel. I’m the one who refurbished the old wood and stained it, making it the centerpiece of the room.
“Someone should bulldoze it down.”
Jafar apparently doesn’t see the same potential.
“Cool,” I reply sarcastically. “You really don’t need to stay. I told you I can handle Ty. Besides, don’t you have some innocent person to intimidate?”
His gaze lands on me. “Only you.”
I don’t think he’s kidding, either. Ugh.
“Well, I’m going to change and then we can go to the clinic.”
I try to dress up when I’m around Jasmine because I know she likes it. Here, at home, I’m going to be me. So, I ditch the black slacks and blue blouse for faded jeans and a white t-shirt promoting the clinic. I’m putting on my sneakers when the wooden floor creaks right before my door opens. Jafar looks around, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“How can you bear to live like this?”
“I think you’re making it sound worse than it is. The house is fine.”
“Your mattress is on the floor.”
“Well, yeah, but only because I haven’t found the right bed frame yet.”
One of my favorite pastimes is going to junk markets and digging for treasures. Some of my best finds have come from things that people deemed as trash.
“You don’t have a closet.”
“Yet.”
He sighs. “I’m sure there’s only one bathroom in this dump, too.”
“You guessed it. It’s right through that door if you need to use it.”
He sidesteps me, going to the bathroom. I don’t want to look like I’m waiting for him, so I grab my purse and make my way to the living room. He emerges a moment later, a scowl on his face.
“You’re going to be so wrinkly when you’re old.”
The words leave my lips before I can stop them. I mean it, though. He’s always glaring, and one day that’s going to catch up with him. Heck, he’s already forty-three.
“Thank god for doctors who can fix such things.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking. Maybe he’s not. Maybe looking good is part of the job. Speaking of…
