Since I’ve got a job now, I set to work to find a cheaper place to live. I’ve got to conserve what’s left of my cash. I start out looking for a garage apartment, but everything I call about on Craigslist has already been taken. Then I find a room for rent about two miles from work. I make the phone call and get an appointment to go see it. When I get there, it’s a two-story house. A chubby, retirement-aged woman comes to the door, old-timey curlers in her hair.
“Hi,” I say. “My name is Miranda. I called about the bedroom for rent?”
The woman invites me in and I’m struck by the scent of lemon drops. It feels good in here, clean and fresh, and I’m thinking maybe this could work out.
“It’s not much,” she says, “just a room upstairs. You’d have to come in through the house, but you could have kitchen privileges. You’ll have your own bedroom and your own bathroom. We share chores, and your food will have to be marked in the fridge.”
“How much is it?” I ask.
“Four hundred a month,” she says. “You won’t beat that anywhere in this part of town.”
“I’ll take it. When can I move in?”
“Don’t you want to see it?” she asks, chuckling.
I realize that I’m being impulsive. “Sure,” I say.
She leads me up the stairs, but she clearly has knee problems, because she pauses every step and pulls up with only her left leg, favoring her right knee. “I try to keep it clean in here,” she says. “That’s my biggest fault, my daughter tells me.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m kind of a clean freak myself.”
We get to the top of the stairs and she shows me a sitting area with a TV, then off to the side the bedroom that’s furnished. It’s small—just enough for a dresser and a bed, and the bathroom has a shower, a commode, and a sink. No frills, but perfect for me.
“I’d like a six-month lease,” she says.
I don’t plan to be here for six weeks, much less six months, but I go ahead and sign it.
“You can move in as soon as you want.”
“I’ll move in tonight.”
As I leave the house, I’m excited about having a place that feels like a home, even if it isn’t mine. I hope I’m not going to get her into trouble for harboring a criminal, but since it’s a business transaction and not a favor, she’ll be able to say she had no idea. She just rented me a room. She didn’t aid me in any way. I’ll have to bend over backward to make that true.
I go back to the hotel room to get the few things I’ve left there, pack up my car, then go to the grocery store and stock up. When I get back, there’s another car in the driveway. I park on the street. I grab my bag and some of the groceries and carry them to the front door. I knock but no one comes, so I open the screen door and step inside. “Hello,” I call. “It’s me, Miranda.”
I see the lady through the back screen door. She’s sweeping the porch, and I realize I never even looked at the backyard. I walk into the kitchen, set my duffel bag down, and quickly unload my groceries, marking my name on each item with a Sharpie. When I put them into the fridge, I see that there are two other names on the items there. Miss Naomi who owns the place, and another name—Lydia. Is there another tenant?
When I’m done, I step to the screen door. “Miss Naomi, I’m back. Just wanted to let you know.”
“Sure, honey, go on up,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I carry my duffel bag upstairs and, as I reach the top landing, I run smack into a girl with waist-length hair as black as night and a toddler on her hip.
“Hi,” I say.
“Who are you?” she asks in an irritated voice.
“I’m Miranda. I just rented the room.”
“What room?”
This isn’t going well. I point to the room I’ve just rented, and she rolls her eyes. “You’d think she could have told me she was giving my room away.”
I want to ask if she’s freaking kidding me, but I try to sort through it as I hear Miss Naomi stepping slowly up the stairs. “Oh good, so you’ve met my daughter Lydia.”
“Who is she?” the girl asks in a biting voice.
“She’s Miranda,” Miss Naomi says. “Your new roommate. I told you I was going to have to rent out one of the rooms if you couldn’t pay your rent on time.”
“What did you do with Caden’s stuff?” Lydia snipes back.
“I moved it all to your room.” There’s a note of satisfaction in Miss Naomi’s voice, and I feel like I’m stepping into a family fight.
“I can’t sleep with him! He sleeps sideways and kicks me in the ribs.”
“I’ll make him a pallet on the floor,” Miss Naomi says.
“Mom, I did pay the rent!”
“You didn’t pay what I told you it costs.”
“So sue me,” Lydia says. “It’s not worth that.”
“You paid me half, so you get to live in half. You don’t get the whole floor anymore.”
I freeze on the landing. “Look, if my being here is a problem, we can tear up the lease.”
“No,” Miss Naomi says. “Stay. Lydia, be nice to your housemate. You have to live with her.”
I’m thinking that I don’t want to live with this girl and a toddler who’s looking at me like he’s about to cry.
“Miranda, do you like children?” Miss Naomi asks.
“Yes, sure. I have a niece.”
“Well, this is my grandson Caden. He’s two and a half. He’s the best thing in this house. He’ll entertain you for hours.”
I frown, hoping that’s an exaggeration.
“So, let me get this straight,” I say. “Lydia and Caden and I are going to be sharing?”
“The floor,” Miss Naomi says. “That bedroom and bath are yours. You’ll share this TV room. Lydia and Caden are in that bedroom over there.”
I look and see the other room across the TV room. It looks like a toddler’s room, with toys everywhere. “Oh, okay. I didn’t realize . . .”
“I was going to tell you more, but you snapped it right up, no questions asked. You signed the lease.”
“I know,” I say. “No, it’s fine, really.”
I try to console myself as I move my stuff into the drawers, but Lydia comes to the door, leans in. I glance past her and see Caden sitting on the floor, watching an episode of a show with little mermaid cartoon characters floating around in the water. It’s Bubble Guppies, something Emma used to love to watch. I think maybe it won’t be all bad being around a child.
“So you don’t have much stuff,” Lydia says grudgingly.
“No,” I tell her. “I like to travel light. I’ll have the rest of my stuff sent later.”
“So you’re new in town?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I just got a job.”
“Where are you working?” Her question sounds like an accusation.
“At the UpDown Seat Company. The Whittingtons own it. Do you know them?”
“No,” she says. “There are over a million people in Dallas. I don’t know everybody.”
This girl has quite a mouth on her.
“It’s only a couple of miles away, so I thought maybe you were familiar with them.” I stop unpacking, because I don’t want her to get suspicious by just how light I travel. At least my wigs are in my emergency bag in the car, so she won’t see those. I take out the bag of toiletries I’ve bought and go into the bathroom to put them away.
Lydia follows me and leans against the door. “Believe me, if I could live anywhere else, I would. She’s got this idea that she’s been enabling me. To do what, I don’t know, but she’s using you to manipulate me.”
I look at her reflection in the mirror. “So you two don’t get along?”
Lydia just rolls her eyes. “My mother is grudgmental.”
“Did you say grudgmental? Like judgmental?”
“Kind of,” Lydia says, “but it’s based on a past grudge. She’s kind of a mental case.”
That’s not very kind to say about your own mother, and it makes me miss my own mom back home, with her rituals of pairs of everything piled so high that she can’t walk to her bed. Lydia doesn’t know how lucky she is.
“Don’t worry,” Lydia says. “I’m not gonna be like this all the time.”
I try to smile. “Like what?”
“Snarcastic. Like Godzilla’s angry stepsister.”
“I wasn’t thinking you were like that.”
“It’s just that my mother likes to do things. Grand gestures that are supposed to shake me to my senses. Taking in a tenant was one of those things.”
“I feel bad.” I put my shampoo in the shower, then turn back to her. “But there was an ad on Craigslist. Doesn’t seem that spontaneous.”
She sighs. “At least it’ll get her off my back about the rent. Oh, and by the way, you need to know that Caden does not like closed doors, so unless you lock it, he’s probably gonna come bolting in. He’s fascinated by doorknobs.”
Caden toddles in, smiles up at me, and asks, “Why she in my room?”
“Because your grandmother is a crazy woman,” Lydia says.
He takes flat, duck-like steps toward me.
“What your name?” he asks.
I almost say Casey, but I catch myself. “I’m Miranda,” I say, and I reach out to shake his little hand. He slaps it like a high five. I wonder if all kids come out of the womb knowing how to do that.
He reaches up to me before I know it, offering himself. “Hold me.”
I pick him up, glancing at Lydia to make sure she’s okay with it, but she’s looking down at her phone, probably texting her friends about the girl who just invaded her home. I have to make sure she doesn’t take my picture.
Caden grins up at me, and I can’t help liking him. “Are you watching Bubble Guppies?” I ask.
Remembering the show, he squirms to get down again. He hurries out and plants himself back in front of the TV. I leave the door open as I put the rest of my things away and try to make myself at home.
I can’t help singing “Bubble Guppies” under my breath as I work.