Califuckinfornia

XXV.

Califuckinfornia

Vanity

Tonight marks night two that I had to watch over Dad's house. He said I could spend the night if I wanted but the main thing was to turn on the sprinklers for the backyard and front yard, ten minutes each section one at a time so I didn't put too much water pressure on the pipes or something. Basically I was going to be here for about an hour because there's like six sections so here goes my night.

"Been a while since I had been in here." CJ teased as we walked inside. I wasn't intending on bringing him but of course my car decided not to turn on and I don't know what's wrong with it but the towers came and took it to the nearest auto shop where it won't be looked at for a couple days because of them being backed up. Just my luck, huh?

"Ha ha, so funny." I said back. "But thank you for driving me over here, it's a big help."

"You were already at my place so it was no big deal. What do you have to do exactly?" He asked as he was taking a glance around the place, specifically the pictures that were hung up on the walls of me when I was little. I hated those pictures and don't understand why Dad keeps them up given he barely cares about me now.

"Sprinklers and separate the mail." I said as I made my way to the backyard where the sprinkler system was located. It used to be on a timer which made everything easy but that timer has since broke and Dad didn't get around to getting it fixed... great. I'm not doing the full ten minutes per section, it's gets five minutes at most and that's it because I wanna get to bed already, I'm tired from a long day at work and then a longer afternoon with Chaniyah who's starting to become comfortable with her tantrums.

"Oh, that's stupid." Thank you, CJ. Turning on the first section, I set my timer on my phone and came back inside to the kitchen where I had left the mail from earlier on when I was here to get the newspaper before the neighbor did. Standing at the counter, I was sorting through that stack, making a pile for bills, another for junk and Dad was pretty popular because he had some personal ones... people still write out letters that aren't holiday cards? That's interesting and one here from a woman in Denver named 'Clarissa Mae' and that made me shake my head because I bet that's the girlfriend or fiancée or whatever he calls her. Setting that down in its own pile- I was surprised when I felt CJ's arms snake around my waist from behind. It made me jump a little as he was so quiet walking around the kitchen.

"Surprise you?" He asked resting his chin on my shoulder and I nodded. "I also saw you shake your head, what's good with that?" He had too strong of a hold around my stomach so I reached down to pull his arms apart.

"You're holding me too tight and I already have a stomach ache." I said and instead he burrowed his hands underneath my shirt, resting his hands on my stomach rubbing them in small circles... which felt pretty good. "But just a letter from his woman, whoever she is." I said pointing to it on the counter. He switched over to my right shoulder and rested his chin there as he peered down at the letter.

"You got a stomach ache from that big ass bowl of nachos, I told you not to overdue it." He was quick to say and all I have to say in return is it was well worth the stomach ache. It was nachos, who in their right mind only has a small bowl? Yes I overdid it but let me enjoy my food baby labor pains, it's not like I eat nachos on the regular to begin with. "But please tell me you're not gonna keep doin' shit for him like this anymore."

"I'm not. This is the last time and since you're here we can grab the furniture from the attic." We might as well and Dad said he would leave the key on the counter- there it is. "I want to already start setting it up at my place as soon as possible." Dropping the last piece of junk mail in its correct pile, I turned around to look up at CJ. "What are you thinking about?" I asked since he looked like he was lost in thought and of course I'm curious to know what goes on in that mind of his.