Page 89 of Not Like The Other Girls

And the house is still the same as she left it. Or when Every, her nighttime stalker, had last stalked her. Quite a surprise, considering Lily girl has always been the one doing all the laundry work and trash burning. Seems like someone has stepped up to do those instead. A damned purple bra hangs from the washing line in front of their house. And a washed condom, for some reason, is also drying out beside it.

Reuse, reduce, recycle, they say.

Not a bad idea at all when you’re broke.

After ringing the little bronze bell beside the front door that acts as a manual doorbell, Lily comes face-to-face with her momma, who clutches a Budweiser in her right hand. Her Every-babe stands behind her, a worried look on his face. Probably from all the potential spiderwebs and mold he might face.

Momma lets out a deep sigh. “Looks like the runway girl finally came the fuck back.”

Now we know where Lily got her atrocious swearing skills from.

Lily defends herself. “Momma, I didn’t run away. I was escaping—”

But her mum raises up a hand like a Buddha statue. “That’s all right, dear. I didn’t have to feed you for one complete month.”

“You don’t feed me at all. I feed myself with the internships and jobs, Momma.”

“Same, same.”

Then she spots her guest, Every, hiding halfway behind his girl with his black suit and tie, and leads them into the so-called living room, which is actually more of a storage room, considering the amount of crates, boxes, and a whole multitude of random things piled up in there. A twenty-year-old plastic Hitachi fan (is that even its name?) spins its cracked blades, the sole cooler of the room.

The trio sits their asses down on the springy sofa, a little torn up here, a little sliced up there, but still working alright. Lily entwines her fingers with her man’s to show their current relationship status of boyfriend-girlfriend.

And to stake a claim, whatever that means.

Out of nowhere, or actually under the sofa, a mouse scurries out, before burying itself back under the currently non-useable television’s counter. At least this time, it doesn’t have the infamous bow tie.

So not Fernando’s, then.

Every dramatically clutches his heart over his crisp white dress shirt. “Heavens,” he blurts out, “that pest really shocked the shit out of me.”

Looks like our Regency romance rake is back.

But Lily’s momma ignores his outburst, probably used to it considering all the boyfriends she had. And still has. And would currently be having, if not for her unexpected guests. “Are you taking my daughter to pay my debt? Because if ever you are, and you just did for the past weeks, I’m still not paying.”

“What?” Every says. Poor man seems to be hit by one hurricane after another.

The older woman takes another sip of her beloved Budweiser. Ain’t that shit bitter? “From yer accent, I figured that you’re not from this side of town. You’ve got cash.”

Every having cash is a severe understatement of his current financial status.

And Lily just sits there silently, staring out of the bleak window, remembering what a sad girl she used to be and still is. For no reason, she starts to itch under the black hoodie she decided to don today, and focuses on that instead of the conversation going down, down south like her imaginary bank account’s deposit.

“I’ve got more than cash,” Every informs her naïvely.

Bad idea, man.

Momma continues after another sip of Bud Light to give her strength. “I can’t believe Lily finally has a boyfriend that doesn’t dump her after the first week.”

And no, if you are wondering, this is not an advertisement break.

Not have paid one, at least.

Lily groans at the mean-assed comment. “Momma, you don’t need to say that.”

Yeah, she totally feels like hopping off the plane right now, if she could afford a ticket.

“But it is important to me. I’m sure we can find a way to get some cash outta him.”