I stepped out of my little apartment, locking the door as soon as the latch locked.
"Running late again, I see." Mrs. Fritz snidely comments as she takes a puff of her morning cigarette. Her skinny, scowl wrinkled lips aim the smoke right at my face.
I roll my eyes and let out a huff when my key gets stuck in the lock. Every morning, the same routine: miss my alarm and wake up late, run out the door as my senile old neighbor adds in her two cents, making it to work in the nick of time, thanks to my trusty bus driver, Rick.
"Good morning, Mrs. Fritz! I love that mumu you have on. Really brings out your gray hair." I snark, finally ripping my key out of the lock.
"You're getting fat." She states and slams her door.
I laugh and run out of the apartment complex, completely ignoring her statement. I still fit into a size two, and I'd be fired if I didn't; plus, we did almost the same exact conversation tango every morning.
"Lovely morning to you, Ms. Pariett!" Rick, my daily bus driver greets and as I rush on. Once again, like every morning, I'm the only passenger. I grin at him and adjust my blouse, retucking it back into the top of my skirt.
"Rick, I don't know how many times I have to tell you! Please call me-"
"Julia." He cuts in, chuckling. "Are you ever going to take the earlier bus? Or will I continue to drive your late butt every morning?"
"You love driving me, Rick, so don't even play around." I joke, looking at his profile as he laughs. "How's the wife?" Rick Steimer is a handsome man, with dark chocolate brown eyes, set in an open face, his graying crew-cut blonde hair the only sign of any aging. Married for 30 years to his wife Susan, he drove buses as a hobby in his early retirement. He made big money as some kind of top notch lawyer for the big hotel owners back in Denver, Colorado before moving to Las Vegas, Nevada to retire. I loved Susan; a beautiful woman, with brown hair and big blue eyes, but she was going through a nasty bout of breast cancer. They were the nicest people I could have ever if had the pleasure of meeting.
"She's doing much better..." He pauses, and heaves a huge sigh as he pulls onto another street. "Landon called last night."
"What?!" His son, Landon, who I never met, followed his father's footsteps and became a lawyer, but apparently didn't talk to the family anymore, hence my surprise.
"Just wanted to check in, and make sure his mother is doing alright." He scowled. "Apparently a once a year, one minute phone call is all his mom and dad are worth to him."
"I'm sorry, Rick." I say sympathetically. I knew the territory of family members not giving a care about you.
I moved from my small hometown of Bison, Connecticut to pursue my dream of being a costume designer. Fast forward two years, and meet the personal assistant to Darbi Ben-Shai, one of the most sought after designers in the North West. My family, not supporting my decision, cut off all contact, until I "stop this ridiculous notion and come home." So here I am, living in a crappy apartment by myself with a fat cat named Latso, at twenty-two, stuck as an assistant with no design future, and no support of my family.
"Just give it some tim; maybe he's going through a phase?"
Rick scoffed and I frowned as the bus pulled into the Costume Magique. "A phase he's been stuck in for eight years? I doubt it... I just don't know what Susan and I did! We gave him everything he ever could hav wanted."
I shrug. "Just give it a little more time. I'm sure he'll stop being ridiculous and realize what he's missing. How about we go to dinner? I'll pay!" I offer. Rick, Susan, and I went to dinner together once a week. I was sort of adopted as the long lost daughter after Rick and I met on the bus everyday day for the past two years.
