Page 3 of Time for Change

“Thank you so much. See you in the morning.”

He walks me to the front entrance of the restaurant, and I can’t help but feel a sense of pride and excitement as I step out onto the sidewalk. I did it. I got the job. As of tomorrow, I’ll be working at Burgers and Brew, making money and hopefully setting myself up for the future.

I climb into my old Chevy car and crank up the heat. It’ll take a while before it’s actually putting out warmth, but it doesn’t bother me as much today as usual. I’m over-the-moon happy about my new job, so I’m not letting a trivial thing like having heat on my ride home bother me. Maybe someday soon I’ll be able to save up enough money for a new car with heated seats.

Wouldn’t that be something?

I drive to the edge of town where the apartment I’m renting is located. The lot isn’t in the best shape and the building has definitely seen better days, but it was affordable and available, and when you’re only twenty years old and relocating to a whole new town, you can’t always be picky. I’ve always been a saver, so I had a small nest egg in the bank to help with the transition, but without knowing how long I was going to be jobless, I wanted to be conservative.

Plus, I don’t need fancy.

I was raised in hellholes way worse than this place, so I’m not complaining. I have a roof over my head, electricity, and hot water. Many times over the years, the latter two were considered a luxury.

Parking my car in one of the available spots, I grab my purse and bag, climb out, and move quickly to the front entrance. The steps are cracked with big chunks broken off in places, and from what I’ve gathered from my neighbor, Mrs. Fritz, they’ve been like that for years. The elevator has also beenbroken, so I take the steps up to the second floor and walk hastily to my apartment through the dingy, cool hallway.

I unlock the knob and deadbolt and slip inside my space, relocking both once I’ve crossed the threshold. Since it’s the middle of the afternoon, the living room is somewhat bright, thanks to the curtains being open. Setting my stuff on the kitchen table, I move to the kitchen to grab a bottle of juice from the fridge.

Since moving in two weeks ago, I’ve done everything I can to turn this small, dingy apartment into a place I can be happy in. Everything inside here is used, but that doesn’t bother me. I had to buy a few key pieces of furniture, like my couch, dinette set, end tables, bed, and dresser. They’re all mismatched, but I love them. Everything here has character.

When I left my mom’s place the day after I graduated high school, I moved into a furnished studio apartment over a garage. My landlord was an older man whose granddaughter worked with me, and the apartment was full of gently used items from their own home over the years. I lived there for over two years before deciding to relocate to Stewart Grove. Upon making that decision, I secured this one-bedroom apartment and found a great secondhand store here in town that sold used furniture. Plus, they helped deliver my purchases.

I glance around the small space, a trace of a smile on my lips. It may not be anything fancy, but it’s mine. Growing up with absent, unwed parents who had no business having a child, I learned a lot about life at a very young age. When I was six, my dad left and married. While I still saw him on weekends, I was stuck with a mother who was never there. She fell in and out of love as often as most people change underwear, and when she was in one of what I used to call honeymoon phases, I was the last person she thought of.

Pushing thoughts of my mom out of my head, I go to the bag and pull my new shirts out. Considering it’s the first of the year and winter is in full swing, I received two fitted T-shirts, two long-sleeved shirts, and a crewneck sweatshirt, with the promise of another round of shirts coming soon. I’m surprised I don’t have to purchase them. Any other job I’ve had, the uniform was an extra expense, so I’ll take the reprieve, happy I only have to purchase a few more pairs of black pants.

I take my new shirts to the bedroom and toss them in the laundry basket. I’ll be making a trip to the laundromat later today, since I don’t use the one here at the apartment building. One of the first things Mrs. Fritz shared with me is to not trust the other tenants in the building. There’s a history of clothes going missing from the laundry room in the basement, and the last thing I want to do is lose part of my wardrobe.

Slipping into the bathroom, I gather the few items of dirty clothing from this morning and toss them into the basket. The small bathroom has definitely seen better days, but it’s as clean as I can make it and bright and sunny, thanks to a yellow and white shower curtain, cheap framed photos I found at the dollar store, and some flowers on the back of the toilet.

When I have all of the items I need to wash ready, I slip into my bedroom to change out of the clothes I wore for my interview. Since I only had them on a short time, I rehang them in the closet and slide on a pair of black joggers and an oversized hoodie sweatshirt. If I have an option, I’m always choosing comfortable. Sweats, T-shirts, and sweatshirts are my go-to attire, especially if I’m at home.

I stuff my feet into a pair of slip-on athletic shoes and turn to exit the room. My eyes catch on the framed photograph sitting on my dresser, and as soon as they settle on the two people in the frame, the familiar lump forms in my throat. I’ll never forget the day I found this photo stuffed in a box and realized what itmeant. I had family I never knew about. I hadn’t intended on framing it and putting it on display, but that’s what happened, and every day, I say hello to two people I’ve never met a day in my life.

But that might change.

Very soon.

And I’m not sure if I’m excited or terrified by that realization.

Oh well. No time to dwell on that now. This laundry isn’t going to wash and dry itself. Making sure I have my purse and coat, bag of quarters, laundry detergent and dryer sheets, I slip out of my apartment and head for my car. The sooner I get this chore done, the sooner I can get home and find a new book to start.

Best way to spend an evening at home.

Reading and eating popcorn.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

Chapter Two

Jack

“Come on, Gianna! The bus will be here in five minutes.” I wait at the base of the stairs until I hear my nine-year-old daughter open her bedroom door and slip across the hall into the bathroom. “Christian, did you put your shoes on?” I ask my mini-me, who is positioned directly to my right, looking up the stairwell with his hands on his hips.

“Yep,” he boasts proudly, lifting his left foot to show me the shoe.

“Good boy,” I tell him. “Let’s get your coat on. Once the bus gets here, I’ll take you to Miss Libby’s.”

“We’re having pancakes for lunch,” he tells me as we walk to the front hall closet and retrieve his coat. “Miss Libby says Bianca can’t put syrup on her own pancakes anymore, because she uses too much. And Ethan will only eat his pancakes with blueys mixed in. I don’t like blueys.”

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