Be My Girlfriend

66

Jo's P.O.V.

You should have told me you're going there now. I could've asked my driver to drive you up there.

Brittany's text blinked on my screen as I sat by the window of the bus.

I smiled to myself and typed back: It's not my first time going there, you know.

The bus rumbled on, the scenery outside slowly shifting from city streets to quieter roads lined with trees and older houses. I had taken this trip before, but somehow today felt different. 

Maybe because I have someone now, and I know she was halfway across the world while I was here with my backpack stuffed with snacks, water, and a jacket in case the suburbs got chilly.

My phone buzzed again.

Still, you should've told me. I don't like you riding buses when I can easily arrange something for you. Text me when you get there.

I chuckled, shaking my head.

Yes, boss. I'll text when I get there, I replied with a wink emoji.

The bus ride wasn't long, I slept a little, some time spent texting with Brittany, taking picture and videos outside the window and sending it to her.

When I arrived at Mrs. Schmidt's mom's house, she was waiting on the porch with a cane in one hand and a small smile on her face.

"Jo, sweetheart, you're here," she greeted me warmly.

"Hi, Mrs. Keller," I said, using her last name. "I'll be helping you out this week. Hope you're ready for me."

She laughed, a little wheezy but cheerful. "Ready as I'll ever be. Come in, come in."

The house smelled like lavender and old books, the kind of scent that made you feel instantly at ease. I set my bag down and rolled up my sleeves.

The first day was mostly small chores. Helping her water the plants in the garden, tidying up the living room, and making lunch together. She insisted on showing me her way of making chicken soup, and though it took longer than I expected, it turned out pretty good.

Brittany texted me pictures in between tasks. One of her at the airport with her minions and Hailey, another of her holding a giant cup of coffee, captioned: Fuel for the flight!

I sent her back a picture of Mrs. Keller's soup, steam rising from the bowl. Not as fancy as airport food, but it smells amazing.

Her reply came quick. I'd trade that airport sandwich for homemade soup any day.

I smiled at the screen before slipping it back into my pocket.

The next few days followed a rhythm.

Mornings started with helping Mrs. Keller with breakfast, sometimes oatmeal, sometimes eggs, always with tea. Then we'd do light chores—laundry, folding clothes, sweeping the porch. She liked to sit outside while I worked, telling me stories about when she was younger. I didn't mind. Her stories made the time pass faster.

Afternoons were for errands. A quick walk to the corner store, picking up her prescriptions, or sometimes just walking around the block to get some air. She'd hold onto my arm tightly, but her steps were still steady.

Evenings were quiet. We'd watch TV together, old soap operas she loved, and then I'd help her prepare for bed.

Through it all, Brittany was there on my phone.

One day she sent me a video of her standing in front of the Colosseum, her hair tied up in a bun and her smile as bright as the Roman sun.

"Look where I am, babe! Can you believe this thing is still standing after so many years? Wish you were here with me," she said, blowing a kiss at the camera.