show my face to Wes again. How the hell am I going to? Not that I have anything planned and may never seem him again, but still. I’m so mortified.
I hear my phone ring as I’m in the shower. It’s probably Mischa wondering how my interview went. I imagine telling her what occurred and can hear her laughter ringing in my ears already. She’s going to laugh so hard she won’t be able to breathe and then she will tell me to come and work for her already. Maybe I should, I don’t know.
I step out of the shower and grab a towel off the rack and dry myself off. I grab another towel from the linen cupboard and wrap it around my hair. Then I walk toward the mirror, grab my face cream, move close to look in the mirror and gasp in horror.
“NO! OH NO! NO NO NO NO! WHY? WHY ME?”
It never occurred to me that it was bright and sunny outside when I was dancing on the corner with no sunscreen on. I thought my nose stung just a bit when I rubbed it with facial soap in the shower, but oh my God. I have sunburn on my nose and a perfect outline of the mask on my face. I look like that awful picture of that celebrity that fell asleep in the sun with her sunglasses on that was in a recent gab tab. I grab the cream off the counter and start rubbing it in all over my face, hoping it helps take away some of the redness so it’s not so obvious later. I wonder if Mischa has some wonder hippie cream or oils that will help.
I grab my wine and take it with me to the be droom, gulping it down as I put my clothes on. When I pick up my house phone with the intention of calling Mischa, the caller ID reveals that my landlord called while I was in the shower. There’s a message so I play it back, “Hi Aspen, it’s Mona. I need you to give me a call as soon as you can. Thanks.”
That’s strange. I’m not late on my rent - it’s the middle of the month. Maybe she is going to have someone come out and do some work on the house or something. It’s in great shape but it could really use a fresh coat of paint and I’ve told her a couple times about the garage door being a little crooked on the bottom when it closes. Maybe she’s finally going to get that taken care of.
I dial her back, “Hello?”
“Hi Mona, it’s Aspen. I just got your message.”
“Oh hi, Aspen, thank you for calling me back so soon.”
“Sure, no problem. What’s up?” My brow furrows with my question.
“I have a bit of bad news which I hate to be the bearer of, but such is life.”
“Okay,” I say drawing out the word. I instantly have a bad feeling because it isn’t like I’ve been really lucky in life these days. I have no idea what she could have to tell me.
“I wanted to let you know that I'm mailing a letter to you today, informing you that you need to vacate the property by the end of the month. Which is in exactly two weeks.”
“Wh-wh-what?” I stutter. I can’t even form a word let alone a complete thought. “What do you mean? I’m being evicted? Why?”
“Well long story short is that I’ve had a bit of financial trouble and had to file for bankruptcy. The house is being reclaimed by the bank and will be owned by them. So therefore, you will have to move out.”
“But… but… I have a lease.”
“Well if you remember, after your lease was up this last time, instead of renewing it for another year, we just went month to month. The lease stipulates that I have the right to ask you to vacate the premises at any time. And the end of the month is in two weeks.”
“But…but…this is my home. And you told me that you would potentially sell this house to me, like a rent to own. I love this house.”
“Look Aspen, what do you want me to tell you? It isn’t like I wanted to file for bankruptcy. It isn’t like I enjoy being a bitch kicking you out of your home, but I don’t have a choice. Shit happens. The home is now owned by the bank or will be very soon and I have no say in this whatsoever.”
“Well maybe I can contact
I hear my phone ring as I’m in the shower. It’s probably Mischa wondering how my interview went. I imagine telling her what occurred and can hear her laughter ringing in my ears already. She’s going to laugh so hard she won’t be able to breathe and then she will tell me to come and work for her already. Maybe I should, I don’t know.
I step out of the shower and grab a towel off the rack and dry myself off. I grab another towel from the linen cupboard and wrap it around my hair. Then I walk toward the mirror, grab my face cream, move close to look in the mirror and gasp in horror.
“NO! OH NO! NO NO NO NO! WHY? WHY ME?”
It never occurred to me that it was bright and sunny outside when I was dancing on the corner with no sunscreen on. I thought my nose stung just a bit when I rubbed it with facial soap in the shower, but oh my God. I have sunburn on my nose and a perfect outline of the mask on my face. I look like that awful picture of that celebrity that fell asleep in the sun with her sunglasses on that was in a recent gab tab. I grab the cream off the counter and start rubbing it in all over my face, hoping it helps take away some of the redness so it’s not so obvious later. I wonder if Mischa has some wonder hippie cream or oils that will help.
I grab my wine and take it with me to the be droom, gulping it down as I put my clothes on. When I pick up my house phone with the intention of calling Mischa, the caller ID reveals that my landlord called while I was in the shower. There’s a message so I play it back, “Hi Aspen, it’s Mona. I need you to give me a call as soon as you can. Thanks.”
That’s strange. I’m not late on my rent - it’s the middle of the month. Maybe she is going to have someone come out and do some work on the house or something. It’s in great shape but it could really use a fresh coat of paint and I’ve told her a couple times about the garage door being a little crooked on the bottom when it closes. Maybe she’s finally going to get that taken care of.
I dial her back, “Hello?”
“Hi Mona, it’s Aspen. I just got your message.”
“Oh hi, Aspen, thank you for calling me back so soon.”
“Sure, no problem. What’s up?” My brow furrows with my question.
“I have a bit of bad news which I hate to be the bearer of, but such is life.”
“Okay,” I say drawing out the word. I instantly have a bad feeling because it isn’t like I’ve been really lucky in life these days. I have no idea what she could have to tell me.
“I wanted to let you know that I'm mailing a letter to you today, informing you that you need to vacate the property by the end of the month. Which is in exactly two weeks.”
“Wh-wh-what?” I stutter. I can’t even form a word let alone a complete thought. “What do you mean? I’m being evicted? Why?”
“Well long story short is that I’ve had a bit of financial trouble and had to file for bankruptcy. The house is being reclaimed by the bank and will be owned by them. So therefore, you will have to move out.”
“But… but… I have a lease.”
“Well if you remember, after your lease was up this last time, instead of renewing it for another year, we just went month to month. The lease stipulates that I have the right to ask you to vacate the premises at any time. And the end of the month is in two weeks.”
“But…but…this is my home. And you told me that you would potentially sell this house to me, like a rent to own. I love this house.”
“Look Aspen, what do you want me to tell you? It isn’t like I wanted to file for bankruptcy. It isn’t like I enjoy being a bitch kicking you out of your home, but I don’t have a choice. Shit happens. The home is now owned by the bank or will be very soon and I have no say in this whatsoever.”
“Well maybe I can contact
Similar Books
