Poor Little Rich Girl | ✓

Chapter 20: Your Cat's Name Is Meredith?

Chapter 20: Your Cat's Name Is Meredith?

“You have a really nice home,” I tell Wesley truthfully as he parks in the driveway of his house.

“Thanks,” He replies, turning the car off and briefly glancing over at me.

It really is a nice house. It looks rather….homey and cute. The house is a tall, narrow rectangular shape. It’s a pale blue color and from the looks of it, it’s a two story home. There’s a garage directly in front of us, the door let down, but for some reason Wesley didn’t park in there. Parallel to his blue pick-up truck is a small silver Honda. I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say that it’s Wesley’s mother’s car seeing as how his dad’s incarcerated and it’s unlikely that anyone else lives here.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, pushing my door open and getting out, closing it behind me.

“I trust that your tiny tummy is fully now?” He asks with an amused grin, leading me up to the front door.

“Yes, my tiny tummy is full now,” I confirm with a satisfied grin as Wesley unlocks the door, pushing it open.

“Good, you know, to be so small, you eat like a warthog,” Wesley notes, gesturing for me to go in before him.

“A warthog?” I echo with a giggle. “That’s such an uncommon animal,” I tell him, walking over the threshold.

“Nope, not really,” Wesley denies, shaking his head and following behind me as we walk into the living room.

“Aww, this is so cute!” I coo, looking around the spacious living room.

It’s not like, fancy or posh or anything like my L.A. home was. There’s an entertainment system backed against a wall with a large television screen situated in it. The entertainment system has like, two doors on either side of the TV with clear glass. On the inside of the doors are shelves which are holding DVDs, pictures and books both for children and young adults, I guess.

“My mother’s an interior decorator; she kinda likes playing around with it,” He explains.

“Oooh, that’s really cool.”

“And weird,” Wesley adds. “I’ll be right back, I gotta go check on something.”

“Okay,” I chime, going over to the photographs as Wesley leaves the room.

There’s a lot of pictures. Like a lot, a lot. Maybe Wesley’s mother likes to regularly take her family to get professionally done photos in her spare time because I notice that nearly all of them are the pro kind.

There’s a particularly adorable one that has a man, a lady and a baby. I’m no rocket scientist or anything, but I’m guessing that it’s Wesley and his parents. Wesley looks like he was about four or maybe five at the time of the picture. It’s one of the few that wasn’t professionally done at a studio or anything. Someone obviously just took it with a camera or cell phone or something.

Wesley’s dad doesn’t look like a guy who should be in prison. He has Wesley’s brown hair but his eyes aren’t green like Wesley’s. They’re a crystal blue color. The man is wearing a huge smile in the picture and is holding Wesley in his arms. They’re in a field of some kinda, sitting on top of a blanket or something, like they were having a picnic. Wesley had on a pair of little baby blue denim overalls and red sneakers. His mother is the spitting image of Wesley. She’s really, really pretty but it’s obviously where Wesley got his features. She has long brown hair that falls in soft waves past her shoulders and a bright smile on her face. She’s leaning towards Wesley’s dad in the photo, her hand on Wesley’s little baby leg.