Ancil“And Channing Tatum,” The blonde girl in the front seat said in a British accent.
“Yes, and Channing Tatum, can’t forget about him,” Adam agreed.
I excused myself from the painting to converse with Adam. My mother allowed it with a smile. She didn’t say anything but her body language said, “Don’t let me stop you, just don’t forget our deal.”
I went up to the car and asked, “What brings you here?”
“Oh, nothing special but just the most amazing thing ever.”
“Go on,” I quickly added.
“Well, my dad just hooked me up with four backstage tickets to see Tom Hiddens in concert. He’ll be in town this Friday and I was thinking we could make it a double date. Me and my girl and you and your girl.” He stopped. “I would hope that by now you’ve found yourself a lady friend. A good-looking guy like you shouldn’t be allowed to be single for too long.”
“I’ve got a friend that I can invite.”
“Oh please don’t tell me that it’s Samantha. That girl freaks me out. No offense.”
“None taken,” I said.
“So who’s the lucky girl?”
“You’ll meet her on Friday. You’ll love her.”
“You better not bring a grenade in my car on Friday,” Adam said.
“Don’t worry, she’s gorgeous.”
“She’d better be. My social status must not be blemished on account of a grenade,” he said with a laugh but I knew that deep down inside he actually meant it. Adam had the social status that usually involved a lot of champagne and yachts and high-class folks who spent thousands of dollars to look like beautiful wax figurines. He rarely hangs around low-lives with me being the only exception since we were roommates at college and whatnot. Even rich kids need roommates. Adam gave me two tickets then said, “I’ll pick you two up right here at eight. Don’t be late.”
“And to think you don’t like poetry.”
“Poetry is intentional.”
“Good point,” I nodded.
“Anyway, see you on Friday. I don’t want to interrupt your housework anymore. Your house looks like it could use a bit of paint. Don’t you think?” Adam smiled cheekily before speeding off.
“So, who’s the lucky girl that you’re inviting?” My mom asked, a bit too excited as I made my way back to the wall..
“Mom, were you eavesdropping?” I asked
“Maybe.”
“You’re going to meet her soon enough. I’m actually going over to her place right now.”
“You mean after we are finished with half of the house.”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” I placed one of my arms over my mom’s shoulders and led her back to the walls.
“Good.”
“Why do we even paint houses anyway? Have you ever thought of that? It’s like putting makeup on a house but no matter how pretty a house looks on the outside it’s all just vanity if the insides are ugly and putrid.” I stroked the paintbrush up and down. “It’s just a mask over a wretched soul attempting to hide the poison beneath its cavernous bowels. It’s just a show mom; a show that we aren’t obligated to be a part of because we, unlike millions of earthlings, don’t need a fancy house to hide the insides of our home because we have nothing to hide.”
My mom smiled a little then said, “Nice try Shakespeare! You aren’t going anywhere till half of this house is painted.”
“It was worth a try.”
It took my mom and me about two hours to paint half of the house and my mom stayed true to our deal. She allowed me to leave and so I did. I left. I obviously took a shower first because I smelt like whatever paint smelt like and my skin was overtaken with cream-colored droplets. Some stubbornly remained on my skin when I finished showering but they weren’t very visible so I let it do.
I told my mom goodbye and then drove off to Kate’s house.
