Effortless With You (5 page)

“That’s actually something else we talked about,” Dad replies. Mom sits down on the couch, her lips tight. She's obviously not a big fan of what Dad is going to say. “You’re not grounded. That punishment clearly hasn’t been working for you.”

What? Seriously? Sweet!

Dad reaches over and holds Mom’s hand. “
We
figure it only encourages you more.”

We.
I roll my eyes. Yeah right.

“Keep in mind that we’ll be checking in on your location whenever we want.”

“Oh, that’s right. How can I forget? You don’t have a real job.”

I'm surprised when it’s Dad, not Mom, who pounces. “Don’t say that. You know what your mother’s gardening blog means for this family. It’s providing your college education.” His words sting.

“Lucy, please stop being a snot,” Mom says.

“Immature much, Mom?”

“Okay. Okay.” Dad stops us before we can get going again. “Just let us know who you will be with and where you will be.”

“Fine.” I stand up to leave. This conversation is over.

“Sit back down. There’s more we think you’ll enjoy.” The way the words smoothly roll off of Mom’s tongue makes my skin crawl. I slam my body back down onto the chair, hoping it breaks a spring.

Mom takes the lead. “Now, just because you aren’t grounded doesn’t mean you’ll spend all your time at the pool with Marissa.”

My heart sinks and my jaw drops with it. No pool? What’s the point of summer if I can’t be at the pool? I glare at Mom. She really is evil.

“Your father spoke with a business associate this morning about you. We got you a job.”

“What?”

“Honey, we decided that since you want to make your own decisions and desire the independence of an adult, you wouldn’t mind going to work at all,” Mom says all too sweetly.

Dad rises. “I completely agree with your mother. In an ideal world, yes, you would have this as your last summer off. But you’ve shown us you want more responsibility so we’re giving it to you.”

I can’t believe it. My entire summer at the pool with Marissa just disappeared. Mom and Dad would know my hours. How can I sneak away to go on dates with Zach? He’d actually have to come here to pick me up. How mortifying.

“Don’t you want to know what you’re doing?” Mom asks.

“Yes, why thank you. I would love that, Mom.”

“Painting.”

I think of an art class. I'm kind of decent with art. Would I be assisting in a preschool?

“The outside of houses,” she adds.

A memory of our old house being painted flashes through my mind. Middle-aged men sweating high up on ladders or scaffolding while hauling huge gallons of paint back and forth. Ten-hour days. No way.

“Are you kidding? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Only if you don’t follow the rules,” she says.

Dad remains silent, sitting on the couch.

“Dad? Really? What if I fall? How am I supposed to carry those paint buckets?”

He takes a deep breath before rubbing his chin. He obviously isn’t comfortable with this proposal. There’s no way he helped come up with this. “Well,” he sighs. “You’ll just have to be careful and creative. They aren’t as heavy as they look.”

“Why couldn’t you have just gotten me a job at the public library?” I start to cry. I can’t believe this. Not only is my summer ruined with a job, it just happens to be a super dangerous and physically impossible one. I stand up to leave. They don’t try to stop me.

“Mom, Dad. What if I get hurt?” I picture a ladder being swept away under my feet and falling three stories to my death.

“You’re a smart girl, Lucy, you’ll be fine,” Mom replies.

“Crawling around on roofs? Hanging off the sides of houses? Lifting huge tubs of paint?” I squeak as my voice cracks.

Mom’s face softens a bit. “You’ll be fine,” she repeats.

“Can I leave now?”

“Yes,” says Dad, still sitting on the couch with his hand held to his cheek. He looks worried. At least one of my parents doesn’t thrive off of being evil.

I turn around to walk up the stairs. Dad calls after me, “One of the workers will pick you up Monday morning at seven.”

I don’t respond. I walk quietly up the stairs only to slam my door so hard it shakes our house. Mom’s voice filters up through my vent. “She’ll be fine, Dan. I promise.”

I scream into my pillow. She is clueless.

CHAPTER FIVE

I drag myself out of bed at twenty to seven. My legs ache from jerking me awake all night long. Stupid dream ladders.

Grabbing my best sports bra and an outfit that I welcome to be destroyed, Marissa’s advice echoes in my mind, “What if you meet a guy? Or what if you’re painting the home of a modeling agent?”

 I doubt either of those things will happen but I throw some mascara and eyeliner on anyway. At least I can look decent when strapped to a gurney.

I hate walking into the unknown. It sucks. All I know is that this job will be dangerous and hot. I grab a granola bar from under my bed, hoping it will help calm me down. A motor sputters into the driveway. I run down the stairs to head off my new coworker from meeting Mom. That would be horrifying.

But Mom’s already waiting for me at the door. I pray she won’t come outside with me. She hands me a water and lunch with a smug expression on her face. I take the water bottle but refuse the lunch. She’s not winning everything. Our exchange is silent. About time.

A battered white pickup truck idles like a snoring troll in our driveway. Metal ladders stick out of the truck bed and a small sign hangs loosely from chains over the side of the bed, “Purposeful Painting Inc.” The sign swings in the breeze, banging loudly against the truck. I'm pretty sure that is illegal. The business doesn’t seem legit at all.

A young guy sits in the front of the truck, sipping from a coffee cup, wearing a painter’s hat and a pair of sunglasses. He has a strong jaw and stubble. I look at his arm, bent up toward his face on the window ledge. He is tan and muscular. A goofy smile spreads across my face. Maybe the summer won’t be a complete waste after all. I climb into the passenger seat, thankful I put on mascara.

“Good morning, Lucinda,” the driver says in a mocking tone.

I stop breathing.

No way. He takes off his sunglasses. Two piercing green eyes stare back at me. I don’t even try to hide my groan.

Justin.

He laughs. “What?”

I roll my eyes before hitting my head against the seat. To any other girl in school, this would be Heaven. To me, it’s a humiliating nightmare.

“Awesome party the other night, huh?” he prods.

I shrug. There’s no way I'm giving him info to use against me. I pull out my granola bar, taking a bite so it’s impossible to speak.

Justin stares cockeyed at the granola bar and my water bottle. “Is that all you have?”

I swallow. “Yup.” Justin raises an eyebrow. “It’s all I need. Seriously, I’ll be fine.”

Justin shakes his head and turns off the engine.

“Um, are you listening? Let’s go. I’m fine.” It’s only been three minutes and already I want to strangle him. He never listens.

Justin jumps out of the truck, bee-lining it for my front door.

“What are you doing?” I jump out, following.

“Getting you lunch.” He looks me up and down, shaking his head. “You won’t survive the day without it.” He pushes open my front door and walks right in. The nerve. I run in behind, reaching the entryway only a few seconds later. Justin isn’t waiting for me. I throw the kitchen door open and want to die.

Justin’s shaking Mom’s hand. “Yes. Mrs. Zwindler. It’s great to finally meet you. My mom reads GardenLush.com every spring to prepare for the flowering season. She loves your blog.” Justin smiles at Mom and she flushes. Even my mom falls for his fake charm.

It always surprises me when people say they are a fan of that blog. To me, the blog is just an extension of her gardening therapy, helping her recovery. It is a constant reminder of what my birth caused. Babies are supposed to bring their mothers joy. I just brought mine postpartum depression that turned into years of darkness.

But Justin’s compliment makes Mom glow. “Oh, she’s a fan? Would you like to take her some samples of a promotional product?” She reaches into a sack, not giving Justin a chance to say no. She pulls out three palm-sized, moist bags. “These are tulip bulbs wrapped in a rich new fertilizer. They use cow and goat manure as well as catfish eggs.” She hands the three lumps to Justin. He looks down at his hands, now holding tulip bulbs and poop. He raises his eyebrows at me. Mom doesn’t notice; she’s oblivious as to how weird her gardening fascination is.

“Tell your mom to plant them this fall. They will be the most beautiful tulips next year,” Mom explains. Justin flashes Mom a thankful smile. Fearing what he’ll say, I jump in.

“Justin,” I almost growl at him. “Let’s go.”

“Lucinda, be polite.” She takes a slow, therapy breath. “I apologize for her rudeness. She’s not normally so frank.” Justin nods, occasionally glancing down at the bags in his hand. He’s actually speechless. I grin and make a mental note: To make Justin shut up, add poop bags.

Mom continues, “You see, this job is not exactly her choice … but her father and I believe it will do her well.” I cringe as Mom tells way too much information.

“I understand, Mrs. Zwindler.” Justin recovers, now holding the bags of poop like hacky sacks. He casually starts to juggle them. “I promise I won’t judge her character off this first week alone.” He flashes his crooked smile.

“Thank you.” Mom pats my back as if she’s done me a favor. I go stone cold, hating her touch on my shoulder. It takes all my strength to not shove it off. She turns back to Justin, her hand still resting on my shoulder. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Lucinda needs a lunch.”

Did Justin want me to hate him for eternity? Only my parents have the right to call me Lucinda. And even then, I hate it.

“Heavens.” Mom opens the fridge, pulling out my lunch bag. “I tried to get her to take it, but she refused.” She hands the bag to Justin. “Thank you for thinking of this. Her father will know she is in good hands when I tell him.”

“Mothers always know best,” Justin responds with another flashy smile. Mom smiles back, not understanding that he’s mocking us from our fight the other night. Justin looks at me. “Okay,
Lucinda
. Let’s roll.”

“Sure.” I quickly grab Justin’s arm and try dragging him through the door. He finagles his way out of my grasp, returning to thank her for the tulip poop bags. I can’t listen anymore. I storm out of the house, seeking refuge in his crappy white truck.

Why did he have to meet Mom? Why did she have to give him poop?

This was the cherry topping of my humiliation. I knew I’d get a call from Marissa asking how I let Mom give Justin poop. How does anyone explain that?

Justin opens the door, chuckling.

“Well,” Justin begins as he turns the ignition. “That was fun. When my uncle called and told me who I was picking up, I was thrilled. After your little show Saturday night, I knew I needed to meet your Mom. She’s famous, ya’ know?” He tosses me a poop bag. “And that! What a great welcome gift.” He laughs as the truck clanks down the driveway.

I refuse to look at him. I act more interested in the crack in the windshield.

Justin turns on the radio and, to my surprise, he stops bothering me. We listen to JSTP’s morning show. A woman calls in and complains about having a fat bridesmaid. I hate listening to any talking on the radio. Isn’t the radio for music? But I endure it. At least it makes him stop bothering me.

Justin pulls into the driveway of a small rambler house. I breathe a sigh of relief. One story—I won’t be dying today. Part of the house is a dirty, pale yellow while the other part is a rich grey. I hope the new color is the grey. The yellow looks like pee. Five guys sit on buckets in the driveway, all my age and relatively attractive.

Justin stops the car and touches my arm. My instincts yank it away. “Sorry.” He seems offended. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll help you out today.”

“Why?” My voice is a bit too harsh.

He replies, meeting my tone. “Well, I assume you know nothing about painting and you’ll need my help.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Fine.” He climbs out, leaving me alone in the truck. Not wanting to look lame, I force myself to follow. I trail him toward the group of guys. They all stand as I approach.

“This is Lucy,” Justin begins. I wait for him to provide further introductions. He doesn’t. Instead he ditches me, grabbing paint and a bag of brushes before walking away and setting up at the front door. I stand alone in front of a group of cute guys. Marissa’s dream. My nightmare. They eye me and I know I’m being judged. But I don’t have to be. I have Zach. I stand up straight, meet each gaze without a smile, and their eyes dart away. Message sent—I’m taken.

“Hi,” I say as they examine the asphalt. The tallest guy is the first to recover from being caught in total
ass
essment mode.