Page 94 of Wild Hit
“Come on in!” Consuelo calls out from the kitchen.
I obey, dragging the first couple of things I could reach. Marty starts working on a third one—a suitcase with operating wheels, like the smart cookie she is.
“Great timing,” the older woman says, wiping her hands dry with a kitchen towel. “I was just about to leave, but I really wanted to leave you all settled.”
“Thank you, you don’t have to bother?—”
She says something in Spanish that clearly means I should zip my mouth, and I do. “Miguel asked me to help the family, and so that’s what I’m doing.”
A true smile forms in my face. I love these people, not because of all the extraordinary things they’ve done andcontinue to do for me. But for the fact that they even did. That they have the heart to help a virtual stranger.
These are the people I want in my life, not the Karens of the world.
Between the three of us, we make pretty quick work of bringing everything into what’s going to be my room. It’s on the first floor, the equivalent one that Rose uses next door, and it’s fully decked for comfort. A large, plush bed sits in the middle, flanked by night tables. There’s a dresser on the opposite wall, and enough floater shelves that this could be a very livable place.
And more notably, there’s a lot of greens.
In the bedding, the cushions, the carpet, and even plants that look pretty real. Everything is soft, pastel, and beautifully coordinated. Like something out of a catalogue.
“You like it?” Marty asks, her eyes the shiniest I’ve ever seen them.
“Iloveit,” I respond sincerely, with the remnants of cute aggression coursing through my veins. “Did you do all this?” I glance at her and Consuelo.
The latter responds, “Miguel told us what to get, so Marty and I went to a store in the morning, came home to wash everything and set it up.”
My mouth does a lot of flapping and none of the yapping. I throw myself at Consuelo and give her a bone-crushing hug. No matter what she says, her job is to take care of Marty, not to do things for me.
Patting my back, she whispers into my ear, “Save this for Mr. Machado.” When she pulls away, she’s laughing like a fairy godmother.
She leaves us settled in the living room with some background music for focus, snacks, and lemonade because—as I learn along the way—Miguel excused his daughter fromsummer school again for the sake of the shopping trip. So now I’m in charge of making sure that she finishes her homework.
And Marty doesn’t wanna.
“Let’s try to dance to ON instead,” she suggests, as if I didn’t know about the difficulty level of that particular choreography.
“Excuse me, Miss Martina,” I say with great affect, lowering my brow. “You might not have realized it but I have two left feet.”
“But Dad says you dance very well.”
I would trip on my two left feet if I wasn’t already sitting by the coffee table with her.
“Uhh, he was being very generous. Trust me, I wouldn’t even manage the first thirty seconds of Just One Day, and that choreography uses a chair.”
She taps her chin. “What if we freestyle it then?”
I point at her homework spread out in front of her with my lips, like her dad would. “Why don’t you freestyle your assignment instead?”
“Ugh.” Marty drops her head back on the couch seat.
“Tell you what,” I offer, shaking my head a little. “I’ll do some work too. For every task we finish, we eat one of those.” I point at the colorful bowl of chewy candies that is in-andconveniently placed between us.
“And then we dance?” she presses.
I guess there’s no avoiding making a fool of myself. But honestly after the day I’ve had this will be fun.
“Deal.” I offer my hand and she shakes it solemnly.
Now that this is a binding contract, we get serious and fire up our iPads. Hers is loaded with more math questions. Mine with my little investment account that I’ve been trying to grow all these years, to see if it was enough to escape my controlling father. It still isn’t, even after all that’s transpired, but I check it every night out of rote.
