Pictures And Some Memories

Thirteen: Back in Her Stomping Grounds

Warmth.

That was the first thing I felt once I exited the Uber, despite it only being 55 degrees. It already was nearly 30 degrees warmer than it was in New York as I boarded my flight earlier this morning, but I was extremely happy I wouldn't be making a roundtrip this time-- I was stuck in California whether I liked it or not (although so far, all I felt was relief the second the plane touched down). 

"Oh my God, this house is so much more beautiful in person," Carly commented as we unloaded our luggage from the back of the SUV. She had insisted on helping me fix the place up, and considering she would temporarily be staying here when ATL began recording soon (and the fact that neither of us wanted to say goodbye to our days as roommates quite yet) it only made sense that she tagged along. 

Just as I opened my mouth to reply in agreement, our driver, a man who claimed to be 27 but looked no older than 16 and flirted with the both of us despite our repeated expressions of disinterest, asked, "Can I help you carry your things inside?" and smiled with too much teeth to be comforting.

She and I glanced at each other and then at the four suitcases and three duffels on the sidewalk beside us. "No, we've got it, thanks."

"Are you sure? Such beautiful women should not have to carry--"

"Get lost, creep, before I report you and your frequent unwanted flirtations to the company," Carly snapped, hazel eyes cold and fixed upon him.

"Have a lovely afternoon," our driver finally lamented, then climbed back into the driver's seat and drove off. 

"God, I hate creepy guys," she shuddered briefly before bending down to hoist a duffel onto her shoulder. 

"Then you should avoid Venice Beach once the evening hours begin, because all sorts of desperate, fedora and bucket hat wearing guys come out and try to woo you over with derogatory comments," I said as I pulled two large suitcases behind me and up the slightly steep driveway. 

"Ugh, I can never have any fun," she pouts as I dig around for the key my father hid in one of the potted plants on the small porch. 

The house was simple compared to some of the other more intricate homes in this neighborhood. I was 20 minutes away from my father and friends, and only a couple miles away from the beach. Gray and carbon black brick made up the outside of the home, and the small concrete floored porch had enough space for a couple of chairs if I removed some of the ivy's and flowers that my stepmother most likely insisted on placing out here. Just at a first glance, I could tell that the windows were brand new, just by how dingy the white trim looked next to the gleam of the glass. 

Once we were inside, I sighed as I pushed the suitcases into the box filled living room and came into contact with the wall of windows that led to my backyard, a decent sized yard that I planned to place plenty of seating, a fire pit and nice grill, and lights to drape on the fence, amongst many other small things. "I love my house," I sighed after we got all of the luggage inside. 

"Me, too," Carly replied, marvelling over the dark granite countertops in my kitchen. "I can't wait to decorate yours, and then go back and redecorate the loft with Alex."

"You better not paint over my graffiti in my former office."

"You moved out and signed over your part of the lease, I'll do what I damn well please! However, since Alex loves it so much, you've nothing to worry about."

"Good," I sighed in relief. I then began to slowly scan the living room, dining room, and kitchen, and the only positive outcome found in the few boxes and pieces of furniture was that my father made sure the walls were painted before I moved in. Otherwise, my home was a mess waiting to be put together, and I felt anxiety start to well within me, urging me to begin the process.