Chapter Eighteen
Thank God You’re Home
I was pacing my living room and freaking out.
Tor had to get home and he had to get home soon.
There were two reasons for that.
One, night had fallen which meant he’d been gone all day, it had been raining or drizzling all day and, I had to admit (damn and blast!) that I was worried about him.
Two, I had a strong feeling the Cora of his world was in some deep shit.
Earlier, after he’d left, I’d laid down and when the aspirin didn’t work, I picked my way through my (filthy, Tor was right, there were used takeout cartons, dirty dishes and other debris everywhere) apartment to the kitchen hoping to make coffee. However, I found no coffee and not much else except sour milk in a carton I was pretty sure I’d left behind.
I shook the milk out in the sink and threw the carton away, got some ice water, took some ibuprofen and tried the resting thing again. Then I couldn’t rest because my house was so filthy.
So I started cleaning, throwing in some laundry, removing the sheets, picking up sodden towels, putting away my clothes and makeup and the other Cora’s expensive clothes and makeup, not to mention, tidying the glossy department store bags that still held receipts and seeing just how much money Cora had spent which nearly gave me a heart attack.
Where had she got so much money?
I found my purse and there was twenty dollars in it which, if I remembered correctly, was how much I’d left in it. I went to my computer and logged into my bank account. All my money was still there. I checked my on-line credit card statements, all the balances were nil, like I kept them, paying them off monthly.
What on earth?
I went back to cleaning and when I bent to put away the scattered DVD cases in the cabinet under my TV, wondering why on earth she pulled out what appeared to be every DVD I owned – she must have really liked movies… I thought – I found it.
Money. Stacks and stacks of it. And we weren’t talking five or ten dollar notes, here. We weren’t even talking twenties. They were all fifties and hundreds.
Holy crap!
I stared at it then sat back on my tush, slammed the doors shut and stared at the cabinet some more.
Then I went back to cleaning but now I was cleaning because I was nervous, agitated and trying not to panic and I was hoping I could concentrate on cleaning and not obsessing about all the ways Cora could get that kind of cash, every way I came up with spelling trouble for her and now… me.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
How did she get so much money?
And whose clothes were those men’s clothes in my closet and, I might add, drawers? There were jeans, t- shirts, suits, dress shirts, shoes, boots, underwear, the whole enchilada. Not many but enough to spell trouble.
Something was wrong and I didn’t want to be home alone without Tor whenever that something walked into my apartment.
I only hoped that whoever he was, he went with her when she went back like Tor came with me.
I finished tidying, scouring, wiping and vacuuming and when I finished, I took a shower, lotioned with my lotion, blow-dried my hair and put on a pair of jeans and a University of Puget Sound sweatshirt.
The clothes of Tor’s world rocked but I had to admit, it felt nice to be in a pair of jeans.
Then I sat down by the phone.
Priorities.
My parents.
“Sweetie!” my Mom cried when she heard my voice and I was relieved I wasn’t disowned. I was also close to tears just hearing her voice. I loved my Mom. “My God, where have you been? The last three times I talked to you, you said you were in a rush and you had to go, you’d call me back. Why haven’t you been calling me back?”
“Uh…”
“And who was that sexy-voiced man who answered the phone, at eleven thirty at night, I might add?”
Oh dear.
“Well –” I started.
“Damn, now I’m in a rush,” Mom cut me off. “Your father is having car problems and he’s stuck out by the bridge. You know, he won’t get rid of that dratted Volvo. I keep telling him, it’s done. He has to let it go. He’s had it for sixteen years! I keep telling he can buy a hybrid, they’re good for the environment or, at least, not as bad as other cars. I mean, does he want to be buried in that Volvo, for God’s sake?”
Dad and his Volvo. Why did discussing this, again (we’d discussed it, like, seven hundred thousand times – Mom freaking hated that Volvo) also make me want to cry?
“So, now, I have to beg off but you’re coming to dinner,” she carried on. “You’re doing it tomorrow night. I don’t care what you have going on. And you’re bringing Mr. Sexy Voice with you. I know my girl and he is why we aren’t hearing from you. I’m so pleased you’ve moved on from Brian. You know, your father and I always thought he was a bit of an idiot. Then again, any man who wouldn’t hold onto my beautiful, sweet, funny girl is an idiot.”
Oh man, totally going to cry.
“Plus,” she went on, “there is the small fact Brian voted for Bush.”
“Mom –”
“Gotta go! Our house. Tomorrow. Six. With your man. See you then! Love you, sweetie.”
Then she was gone.
I stared at the receiver then I hit the off button. The instant I did, it rang in my hand and I jumped.
Bracing (because it could be anything), I hit the on button and greeted hesitantly, “Hello?”
“Forgot to ask, sweetie, does your man not eat anything? I mean, is he a vegetarian or something?” Mom enquired.
Tor killed two Thumpers for our first dinner together. The man was so not a vegetarian it wasn’t funny and yet I burst out laughing. Probably hysterically.
Through my laughter, I said, “Uh, no Mom. He’s definitely not a vegetarian.”
“Oh, okay, well, anything else he doesn’t eat?”
I controlled my hilarity and started, “Mom, I need to explain –”
“Explain tomorrow, over wine. Now I have to know this and get your father. Is there something he doesn’t eat?”
Shit.
“I think he eats everything, Mom.”
“Great! I’ll get inspired. Promise. Later!”
Then, again she was gone.
I beeped the off button again.
Oh crap, did I just allow my mother to order me and my other world man (who I hated) to dinner?
Shit!
Then I set about calling my friends. None of them picked up. I didn’t think this was a good sign.
I left hesitant, “I really need to talk to you, something’s happened,” voicemail messages and hoped.
After that, I took the trash out to the dumpster, ran by the corner store to get staples and came back only to see Tor standing in my living room wearing a very well-tailored suit and looking around at the newly cleaned apartment.
What? Was he trying on clothes?
He turned and gave me a huge smile.
