Paint the Town

team

"You? You own Monroe and Associates Accounting?" Lizzie said. She was fully sitting up now, eyes narrowed at Antonio, who still lied on the ground.

He laughed, throwing his head back and giving Lizzie full view of his always clean shaven jaw. "Almost. In a few months I'm slated to take over the rest of the firm, but as of now," he pushed himself up onto his forearms, "Think of me as an apprentice of sorts."

"Monroe's apprentice? Is he your father?"

"He's... Monroe."

Lizzie nodded, letting it go and playing with the grass between her crossed legs. "As monotonous as it sounds, I'm glad you enjoy what you do." She looked up from under her thin eyelashes and smiled softly before looking down once more to scratch dirt from her boots.

"It's far from what I dreamed, but I'm good at what I do and it keeps my family taken care of. Things happen, and I'd like to think that they happen for a reason," he said, leaving Lizzie to wonder what 'things 'in particular landed him one of the highest paying jobs in town. After another pause, he shook his head. "I could never teach. Not enough patience for children other than my own."

The bellowing laugh that erupted from Lizzie's throat almost scared him. "I'm sure that's not true," she said, calming down. "I got into it because I needed a steady income, but I stayed for the kids. Sure, every day is gross and loud, but that's what makes it so exciting."

"Seems... messy."

Lizzie was ripping apart more dandelions and tossing the scraps past her feet. "Always the pessimist," she said. Antonio rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue in his cheek. "The mess comes with the territory, but it's a good gig with steady hours. It wasn't my dream, but we have to work to live, you know?"

"My dad used to say that," he said, crossing his legs at the ankles. He cleared his throat and spoke in a gruff tone. "'In America, mijo, you must work to live. Work to live, work to provide, and work so that your children won't have to work as hard as you.'"

"Sounds like my mother; she's kind of a hard ass," Lizzie said, eliciting a chuckle from Antonio. "Dad is the soft one. 'Work to live, but never live to work.'"

Antonio gave a slight hum of contemplation.

A slight breeze rustled the grass and washed over Lizzie's face as Antonio welcomed the fresh air. "What was your dream?"

"Huh?"

"You said teaching wasn't your dream, so what was it?" His head was tilted to the side, and his lips were pursed with an interest that Lizzie had rarely been on the receiving end of.

The mention of her dream spurred memories that had become dusted in the back of her mind; the creak and tap of wooden floorboards, tennis balls under her school desk, and the squeak of an opening red curtain. After almost ten years, she thought about it less, but its effects continued to present in her terrible feet and exemplary posture.

Antonio's genuine curiosity was appreciated, but it made her avoidance of the question much more difficult.

Instead of providing an answer, Lizzie turned her head to the left, looking down the expanse of the wall, then up at the moving sun. "We're burning daylight, Alvarez," she said, picking up the cultivator by the hook and handing it off to him.

The hours bled into one another as they switched jobs, each taking turns when their wrists could no longer take the hacking, or when their palms became too raw to continue pulling.

Lizzie's arm muscles were nearing fatigue as they closed in on the last yard of the wall, leaving behind them a trail of newly exposed brick. Her breathing was labored, but the active sweat dripping down her back subsided, her perspiration now taking the form of a thin layer of grime and dirt all over her body. Next to her, Antonio was hunched over with a flushed face and loose hair that hung off his head in clumpy waves. His put together exterior he had upon arrival was long gone; the belt of his pants was discarded for better mobility, his leather shoes were deeply creased at the toe, and his shirt was down two more buttons. He looked like a CEO on a morning walk of shame.

The last weed went down fighting, its thick and tall stem requiring Lizzie to stand up and drive through her heels. Antonio sat on the ground, slurring with exhaustion. "Use your legs."

"I've been doing this for the past three hours! I think I know-- ah!" she yelped as the roots gave way and let the weed free, causing Lizzie to lose her balance and fly backwards. She landed on the ground with a thud.

"Ouch," Antonio said, taking in air between his teeth. "That looked like it hurt." Instead of verbally responding, Lizzie opted to swing the strong weed in his direction, eliciting a groan from him when the leaves hit his face.

Antonio sat up and wiped the dirt off his hands as best as he could. "Good work, team."

"Team?" Lizzie's brows raised in surprise, her lips following suit as they spread into a wide, goofy grin.

"I'm not going to say it again."

Lizzie's smile was still shining with pride. "You don't have to, once was enough."

**********

When she got home that night, Lizzie scrubbed her body until she was squeaky clean from head to toe. She worked her fingernails with a small toothbrush, but worked gently on her feet, which were screaming from the unusually treacherous walk home.

Antonio had offered to drive her, asserting that it was "no trouble at all" as he buttoned back up his shirt and looped his leather belt back around his waist. After a few minutes of politely declining, Lizzie opted to end the argument by promptly saying goodnight and walking on her way. By the time his car caught up with her further up the street, he was already on the phone, deep in conversation.

Christina was probably the only person Lizzie frequently accepted rides from; her small SUV had seats that welcomed Lizzie's butt on every occasion, and Lizzie never turned red upon arriving at their destination, embarrassed that her apartment building obviously did not match her paycheck. Explaining this discrepancy was uncomfortable-- especially considering how uncomfortable the apartment itself made her-- and the last person she felt like explaining it to was Antonio.

After her shower, Lizzie kicked back on the couch in her pajamas and-- for the first time that day-- let herself relax. The cushions caressed her leg muscles, and the pillow behind her molded to her back like a perfectly tailored hug, supporting her and keeping her body from turning to jelly. While on the soft couch, Lizzie could forget about the cat and the cardboard boxes begging for her attention.

With her laptop in front of her, she scrolled through her email inbox. Dozens of Donaldson's daily bulletins and old PTA meeting minutes filled the space, and topping it off were the blinking, unopened messages of today.

She typed up a response to Mrs. Williams, her class parent, in regards to the upcoming Easter Egg hunt, and to Mr. Hernandez, who wrote that his son Gabriel would be absent for the next few days as his family took a trip out of the country. Lizzie emailed back her well wishes and daydreamed about the souvenir she might receive upon Gabriel's return.

As she was about to close up for the night, one last message blinked, catching her attention. "Schedule," it read. She frowned, opening it to read.

Lizzie,

Attached below is my availability for the next two weeks. Let me know when you need me and I will see what I can do.

Regards, Antonio.

The corners of her mouth turned up, and her toes wiggled with excitement, frightening away Brando who had taken purchase by her feet. She felt he had finally given her the reigns, something to work with rather than waiting around for him to have time for her.

Despite her excitement, it quickly died down upon opening the attachment, the amount of red, occupied space catching her off guard. Lizzie found herself presented with two hour time slots of availability, two days each week. The bread and butter he was expecting turned out to be a pile of crumbs.

But, she was going to make it work.

She grabbed her calendar from her bag and got to work, penciling days for them to work together, and some for her to work alone— but she didn't mind it. If she was working alone on purpose, she could not be disappointed if he didn't show.

As she began to reply to his email with her tentative agenda, the phone rang.

Distractedly twirling her pencil, she answered the call and brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Little Red."