Page 6 of Pour Decisions
“Wait, what?” I finally say after a few beats. I stare at her. She cannot be serious right now. “Three strikes? When were my other two?”
“Monday at six thirty p.m. and the Wednesday before that at seven seventeen a.m.,” she says, as if she’s had those numbers good to go for this exact moment.
“But can I just…” I press the heel of my hand against my forehead. “This can’t be legal.”
“I wrote it in the contract,” she says. “And you signed it, clear of mind. So, you have to pack up and leave.”
I glance behind me, where the movers are taking out the last of my stuff. It’s not much. I had moved in with my ex since he already owned the house and furnished the whole thing. Not that I wanted his bland furniture anyway.
I swallow and take a breath so I don’t give into my urge to fling myself into the nearest busy street. I need this place. Finding an apartment within my budget that wasn't a hellish commute in my shitty little car was a struggle enough. The idea of having to do itagainwhile I’m putting in as many hours as I can at work sounds like hell.
“That really cannot be legal. I need to look at it again.” I pull out my phone and dig up my rental agreement.
Ms. Hendricks waits, smug as hell, as I scroll through my agreement. Oh my god, did I seriously just glance at this and sign it? Ididagree to all these stupid rules, stone-cold sober. Do I have a single leg to stand on? It seems like something I’d need a lawyer or at least another set of eyes to look at.
Ms. Hendricks's smug smile grows, and she crosses her arms over her chest.
“So, you see I’m right,” she says.
I heave a sigh and let my arm fall. All the energy in my body starts melting out of me. On one hand, I need a place to live, but on the other, can I stay sane living in a place like this?
Since my divorce, I’ve had to learn how to adapt. I can adapt to this.
“Fine.” I hold back the urge to curse her out because it feels like she’d probably love to stir up more drama. “I’ll load up my things and leave.”
“Good.”
I don’t give her a second glance while I stuff my little SUV with everything I currently own. At least the guys clearing my shit were careful with it. My rage pushes me on until my car is stuffed and I have to actually drive somewhere. But where?
I head to the nearest gas station and call my mom while I fill up my tank. I’m glad our relationship is at a place where I can lean on her a bit. We’ve had our ups and downs over the years, especially after she and my dad split when I was eight. Our relationship only healed in the past few years after she had a health scare.
One of my goals after moving back is to get close to her again now that I’m an adult. No better time than the present, I guess.
“Hey, Trina,” Mom says. I hear a bunch of clanging in the background. “What’s up? Can you hear me okay?”
“Hi. Yeah, I can hear you.” I run a hand over my face. “It’s kind of a long story, but I got kicked out of my apartment.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I knew that woman was nuts.” I’d told her all about Ms. Hendricks when we spoke on the phone last. We haven’t had the chance to meet up yet because of her work schedule.
“Yeah. I guess it’s fine because she would have driven me crazy. But now I’m kind of out of a place to live,” I say. “Can I crash with you for a bit while I find a new place?”
“Oh…” Mom pauses, and I hear a man swear in the background as something creaks. “Well, remember the boyfriend I mentioned, Dillon? We’re moving in together. I wasn’t sure if we were going to get this place, so I didn’t mention it when we spoke last.”
“That’s…fast.”
I hope I don’t sound judgmental. Mom dates a lot, and always has. She was never the type to bring a bunch of random guys around me, thank god, but that meant she was out with these guys all the time and not spending time with me in the summers I lived with her.
I busy myself with putting the gas pump back and swallow the knot in my throat. I’m a grown-ass woman now and I have my own life. I can’t be upset that my mom does too.
“I know! It’s just been a whirlwind. He’s a good guy.” She pauses and says something to the man in the background—Dillon, I’m assuming—about an ironing board. “But we’re in a hotel for the next few nights while they finish up a few final renovations on the plumbing.”
“Shoot.” I sigh.
“Do you…maybe you could take our couch? Once we’re in our place, I mean?” she asks, almost like she doesn’t want to offer. My instincts make me think it’s because she doesn’t want me around, but I want to give her the benefit of the doubt. Moving is hectic.
Plus, the last time I moved in with her and her man of the moment, her second husband, my entire life literally imploded. I’m hesitant too knowing he’d be there.
“It’s fine. I’ll sort something out. I can ask Perrie.”
