Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 49888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Needless to say, that stayed a dream. Despite all the searching, it never came through. Never became reality.
So every time things went sideways, we would pack up and move, and she would start work at a new place. Pretty much every time, the job was not as great as she had been told it was, and so she would have to get a second job. Sometimes even a third job. She knew how to do a lot of things, like crafting and stuff. She was always coming up with new ideas on how to make an extra fifty or a hundred bucks here and there.
We even lived with my grandparents for a couple of years, too. We thought that would work out okay. That was when I was about sixteen years old. My mom said that if we were living with Grandma and Grandpa, things would be less of a struggle. She would be able to save more money. She thought I could use that money to go to college, because college was coming up sooner rather than later.
So again, we packed everything up, loaded it in a truck, and moved it to Illinois that time. Actually, not too far from where I am standing right now. A nice little bungalow, in a nice little neighborhood, and I had my own room which was a converted back porch with windows on three sides. The floor sloped a little bit since it was originally a porch, but I really liked it. It was really pretty.
But they didn’t get along. Not at all. Grandma didn’t really appreciate my mother’s way of life. She thought working so hard was beneath her feminine dignity. That if she had been a bit better of a wife, she would still have a husband supporting her. That she must have thrown away a good man because she was too proud, or her husband walked out because she was uppity. Seemed to think she needed to be taken down a few notches.
Grandma may have had an old-fashioned way of looking at things, and I don’t know very many real families that actually work that way. It seems to me that most of the time, everybody has to get in the rowboat and start rowing. It’s everybody’s job. If only one person is rowing, I think everybody should be amazed and grateful that the boat doesn’t just sink.
In order to move to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, we actually sold most of our stuff. We arrived there with only clothes. When I graduated high school a couple of years later, I figured I might as well go out on my own, again with only my clothes.
It was a much easier way to pack; at least there was that.
Sadly, my mom had developed cancer. She didn’t know for a long time and when she found out, she kept it to herself and didn’t tell anyone. She kept working, thinking if she just pushed a little harder, she’d finally turn the corner and have everything sorted. I guess maybe if she’d had a bit more time, it might have worked out that way.
I stayed with a girl from my school for about six months, with her family, and saved up enough money to buy a Honda. Shortly after that, the Honda broke down. Then I met Roger, then I moved here.
It felt like an accomplishment, honestly. This is my place. It is so pretty. The things here look like me. A little bit mismatched, but harmonious. All brought in from different places. But taken together, they reflect who I am.
So does the fact that I’m about to lose it all so quickly also reflect who I am?
“Olivia?” comes a voice behind me.
“Betty!” I call out, rushing forward with my arms out, relieved that she is here.
Betty is my rock. Betty will help me figure out how to move forward.
She hugs me, but she bites her lips closed too. Instantly, I can feel the emotion sloshing through her. She is trying to be tough. Trying really hard.
“You can’t cry!” I warn her. “If you cry, then I will cry. So you cannot cry, okay?”
She takes a deep breath and nods tightly. I can tell she is right on the edge.
“Okay.”
“Promise me!”
“Okay.”
She takes another breath, blowing it out through puffed-up cheeks. After a few seconds, she nods, indicating that she is back under control.
“So, did you get a job?” she asks in a shaky but determined voice. “Did you… I mean…”
I give her another squeeze, then pull back so I can smile at her.
“I did get a job,” I tell her, smiling.
“Oh my God, that’s amazing!” she cries out, hugging me desperately. She sighs heavily, relieved. “I was so worried about you! I am so glad it worked out! What did you get? The nanny job?”