Chapter 15- Nia

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"Does this look okay?"

I asked standing in front of the mirror.

I held up my phone so Mya and Tasha could see my full outfit. They both had to work today, so they promised to FaceTime when they went on break.

"Turn around so I can see the back," Tasha ordered taking a sip from her Panda Express cup, her bright red lipstick staining the straw. She works at a makeup counter, so she can get away with wearing her elaborate make up to work.

I spun around struggling to get my back in the screen. "Can you see it?" I asked.

"Not really," Mya said. "I don't think you should wear a skirt."

"I agree," Tasha said.

"Why not?" I asked turning back around. I moved over the pile of clothes that I had already tried on and sat on my bed. I had spent all morning trying on clothes, I put on one outfit after the other trying to find the perfect thing to wear.

"It looks like you're trying too hard," Tasha said. "Besides he sees you in a skirt every day, show him something different. Wear a pair of jeans, or those new pants you got from the thrift store last week."

"The printed ones?"

"Yeah, those," she said. "They would look good with that top."

I pulled the pants out of the shopping, I had almost forgotten what they looked like, I hadn't even looked at them since I bought them.

Taking off my skirt, I slipped on the pants. The silky material glided against my legs. The pants went a little past my belly button and stopped right below my cropped shirt. The black and white checked print went well with my simple white top, but something was still missing.

"Put on your denim jacket," Mya suggested reading my mind.

I slipped on my denim jacket that I had thrown on the back of my desk chair, and it was perfect. I looked like I was trying, but not too hard.

"You look adorable, Nia," Tasha said giving her approval. "I would date you."

"I think the bar is set pretty low on that one," said Mya, earning her a swift punch in the arm from Tasha.

"Thanks," I smiled. I looked at the time on my alarm clock that sat on my dresser, eleven-thirty. I told Marcus I would be there by twelve, so if I want to make it in time I need to leave right now. Rushing to put on my sneakers, I said goodbye to Tasha and Mya.

"Bye, girlie. Call us later and tell us everything," Tasha said.

"And call me if you need to be rescued, I'll ditch those losers at the record store, no problem," Mya added.

"I will," I promised. We said our final goodbyes and hung up. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and jogged downstairs, stopping by the kitchen.

"Grandma, where are the car keys?" She sat at the kitchen table clipping next week's coupons.

Looking up from her coupon clippings, she waved her scissors toward the kitchen counter. "They're over there."

I grabbed her keys from the counter. "Well don't you look cute. Your mother had some pants just like that when she was younger," she told me.

"Really?" I asked spinning the key ring around my index finger.

"Yes, she used to wear them all the time," she chuckled to herself. "Your father hated them, said she looked like M.C. Hammer. But that didn't stop her ."

I like hearing stories about my parents, we don't talk about them much anymore. I sighed, moving across the kitchen. "Okay, Grandma, I'm leaving." I gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"All right, sweetheart. Don't be back too late."

"I won't, I'll only be gone a few hours," I assured her. "I'm going to visit my friend Lavender when I'm done studying."

"Lavender? What nice name," she said. "Well, have a good time."

"I will," I said heading out the door.

***

Marcus's neighborhood was beautiful, every house seemed to be bigger than the last. I use the term house loosely, they were more like mansions. It makes sense that you have to pass a huge gate and a security guard to get in. I'm not sure how helpful the security guard is though. He didn't check for my I.D. or anything, he looked at me, turned away, and continued to eat his Chipotle.

Marcus had texted me his address last night, and he said to drive to the end of the first street and turn right, and then his house would be the first one on the left. Lavender had texted me her address as well and told me to come over when I was done studying with Marcus.

It was easy to tell which house was hers, as I pulled into Marcus's driveway. Her house was large, just like the other house,  but the entire front was made of a type of frosted, green tinted, glass. I couldn't see much of the inside from the road, because there were so many plants and trees blocking it from view.

My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at Marcus's house from the car window. It was so—big, almost obnoxious, really. My house was a shack compared to this...this palace that he lived in. There was even a fountain in the center of the courtyard. How could something be extra, but also simple.

Few journalists can afford mansions like this, but shit, I can still dream. I sat in my Grandma's car awhile longer, just admiring the house, before finally getting the courage to go knock on the door. I wonder what his parents will be like, I know they're rich, but are they snobby and pretentious, are they helicopter parents, are they racist?

God, I hope they're not racist. Talk about setting a non-existent relationship off on the wrong foot.

I climbed the stone steps to the front door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked, and then I waited.

I toyed with the strap of my backpack, as I waited for someone to answer the door.

Since no had come to the door the first time I knocked, I raised my hand to knock again. But before I could knock on the hardwood door, someone answered it. A short, round woman, with long black hair, and tan skin.

"Hi, you must be Marcus' guest," she smiled brightly. I detected a bit of an accent, from where I'm not sure, Mexico, maybe.

"Come in, come in," she waved me in with a bright smile. 

I stepped inside, and I didn't know how it was possible but the inside was even more beautiful than the outside. I felt like I had stepped into the pages of those elaborate home magazines we sell at Barnes and Noble. A large double staircase framed the foyer, it smelled like the inside of a fancy furniture store. So this how the other half lives.

"My name is Rosa, I'm the Garret's nanny." Rosa was older, small wrinkles framed her brown eyes. She had deep lines set around her mouth, the symbol of a woman who smiles often, my grandmother would say.

"It's nice to meet you, Rosa," I said politely.

"I'll go get Marcus for you. You can wait in the living room." She went down a small hallway of the side of foyer leaving me alone. I sat on the large leather sofa that took up most of the living room. I nervously rubbed my hands on my pants legs. I felt strangely out of place, and  I was beginning to regret my outfit decision. I didn't want to look cheap.

"Who are you?" a voice said from behind me. Startled, I turned around to face a small boy in a short sleeve shirt and khaki pants.

"I'm Nia, what's your name?" I asked

"My name's E.J.," he said. He hopped onto the couch, taking a seat next to me. "But my real name is Elijah."

"It's nice to meet you, E.J."

"Are you here to see Bubby?"

"Uh, no?" I wasn't quite sure who he was referring to.

"I mean Marcus," he blushed. He scooted closer to me and whispered, "I'm not supposed to call him that in front of company."

My heart instantly melted. Bubby—that is the cutest thing I've ever heard. "I won't tell, I promise," I whispered back to him.

"Are you his girlfriend?" He asked, curious.

In my dreams. "No, I'm not."

His brows knit together in confusion. "Are you a girl?"

"Well, yes."

"Are you his friend?"

"I think so."

"Then you are his girlfriend, silly," he giggled. How did this child find a way to make me feel silly?

I didn't want to burst his bubble, and tell him being labeled someone's girlfriend usually means something different, so I just let it be. He moved on quickly anyway, focusing on the black scrunchie on my wrist.

"What's that?" He pointed at it.

"It's a hair tie."

"What do you use it for?" He reached out to feel the material between his fingers. Pulling on it and stretching it.

"I use it to pull my hair out of my face." I pointed at my ponytail that I had secured with a pink hair tie. "See, like this."

"Can I have it?" he asked, still holding it. He peered up at me with wide green eyes, and I found it hard to say no. Besides it's just a scrunchie, I have plenty...somewhere.

"Sure."

He squealed, holding his hand out for it. Slipping it off my wrist, I put the stretchy black fabric in E.J.'s hand.

Suddenly he wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace. "Thank you so much."

"Oh, you're welcome," I said caught off guard. How sheltered is this child?

He let me go, his new hair tie wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet. It was only then that I realized how much he looked like Marcus. His dark curly hair fell to his shoulders. He may have need a slight trim, as he was talking to me I noticed it kept falling into his. He had the chubbiest round cheeks that I just wanted to squeeze. And those eyes, they must be a Garret signature, they had the same brilliant green eyes.

"Do you want to watch something on my IPad?" he asked sweetly, pulling a tablet that I hadn't noticed was there from under the couch cushion. They keep IPads in their couches.

Man, rich people are wild.

I heard footsteps behind us. I turned to see Marcus and a beautiful, yet familiar woman standing behind us. Where had I seen her? TV, a magazine, maybe, I saw her at the mall.

Marcus looked even better than he did in his uniform. He wore a simple black t-shirt and jeans. The shirt fit snug against his chest and arms, and his jeans fit him just right. Not too tight, but not too loose either.

The woman that stood next to him was extraordinarily beautiful. Her face was angular but didn't hold the same sharp edge as Marcus. Her outfit looked like it had been taken straight off the mannequin at Saks Fifth Avenue. Though she stood tall in her stilettos, I could tell she was normally much shorter. Her short blonde hair fell in waves around her face. Something about her seemed so familiar, but I still couldn't put my finger on it.

She came closer to me. "Hi, Nia, I'm Marcus's mother." She smiled showcasing a set of perfect teeth.

His mother—she can't be more than thirty years old. She held out her hand for me to shake. "It's nice to meet you."

I stood from the couch and shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Garret."

"Oh, you can call me Ellen," she laughed, and that's when I knew where I've seen her.

Ellen Garret, she's a blogger and social media star. Her book, The Chic Mom, has been sold out for weeks. We can't seem to keep it on the shelves at Barnes and Noble.

Tasha is strangely obsessed with her, even though she has no children. She even has her Instagram post notifications on. She's says she's, "goals" and after looking at this house I'd have to agree. She's going to lose her shit when she finds out I met her.

"Oh, I've seen your blog before my best friend is a huge fan," I told her, still trying to shake off the nerves that had been building.

"Really?" she asked surprised. I'm sure she doesn't have that many seventeen year old fan girls.

"Yes, she's been trying to get your book for weeks, but it's sold out everywhere."

"She can have one of my copies," she offered. "The publisher gave me so many. I'll even sign it for her."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," I said, not wanting any handouts.

"No really, I'll give you one so you can take it to her," she insisted. "I won't take no for an answer you have to take it." She left no room for argument.

"Okay," I laughed. "She's going to love that."

"Mama, look what Nia gave me," E.J. said standing on the couch to show his mother the scrunchie. I cringed internally watching him slightly bounce on the expensive leather.

"I hope that's okay," I said, realizing that might not be the safest gift for a young child. "He asked for it, and I just gave it to him." Even saying the words out loud, I felt like an idiot. You can't just give other people's children things.

"It's fine," she said. Ellen picked him up from the couch. "Maybe you can put that hair tie to good use, since you don't want to get a haircut."

He shook his darks locks side to side. "No, Mama, I don't want to cut my hair. I love my hair so much."

"Not even a trim?" she pleaded.

"No," he said defiantly. "I won't."

"But you could get you haircut like mine," Marcus tried to persuade him.

"But I don't want my hair like yours, I want my hair to be long like Tarzan," said E.J.

"Come on, young Tarzan. I think Rosa has ice cream for us," Ellen told him pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Can Nia come eat ice cream with us?" he asked excitedly.

"No, she's here to study with Marcus," Ellen told him.

He turned back to me, with those big puppy dog eyes again. "Will you play with me when you're done studying?" he asked.

"Of course, I will," I agreed.

"Yay!" he exclaimed. "I'll save you some of my ice cream," he promised as Ellen began carrying him into the kitchen. I don't know how she didn't fall over in those thin heels.

"Bye, Nia!" E.J. yelled waving over Ellen's shoulder.

"I'm sorry about that," Marcus apologized once they had left. "If you couldn't tell he loves attention. He's like that with everyone that comes over."

"That sucks, I thought I was special," I said jokingly.

"But you gave him a gift, that means something," he said. "You may be his favorite now."

I laughed, "I gave him a rubber band."

"That's more than my other guest have given him," Marcus shrugged. "You must have fallen for the puppy dog eyes."

I gasped, "How'd you know?"

"Because everyone does. E.J. has us all wrapped around his tiny little fingers. But don't let the cute face fool you," he warned. "He can be a handful."

I can imagine. "But he's so cute."

"He's already worked his magic on you," he smirked. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he asked, "Do you want to head upstairs?"

"Yeah, sure." My hands began to sweat and butterflies bumped around in my stomach. Instead of focusing on my nerves, I tried focusing on my breathing.

Marcus led me up the large staircase, and I tried to focus on not tripping up the stairs. But instead I found myself paying more attention to how cute his butt looked in his jeans.

Turning my attention away from Marcus, I looked at the pictures that lined the hallways. Some were of Marcus and E.J., Ellen was with them in some of them too. But a gray-haired man joined them in many of the photos.

His hair was silver and he had the same intense green eyes as Marcus and E.J. He was a little taller than Marcus, and he had gray, almost white hair. He was obviously older, but the resemblance was uncanny.

I stopped in front of a picture of Marcus, E.J., and the older man. It was like someone had cloned them. For an older man, he looked like he was in decent shape. There's no way they aren't related.

Marcus came and stood next to me. "Is that your grandpa?" I asked him, staring up at the photo.

"Uh, no," Marcus chuckled. "That's my dad."

Wow, I'm an idiot. He just looks so much older than his mom. Where Ellen looked thirty, Marcus's dad had to be in his late fifties. "I am so sorry, Marcus. I didn't mean to assume anything," I apologized. I feel like the biggest idiot in the world, but Marcus's mom looks like she could be his daughter.

But it's the twenty-first century, women can date older men, much older, in this case.

"Don't worry about it," said Marcus. He shrugged. "I know my dad's old. He's twenty years older than my mom. They met at the diner my mom worked at, they got married shortly after they met, and a year later they had me. My dad said that when he saw her, he knew she was the one."

"That's so romantic."

I've never believed in love at first sight, I've always wanted to, but it always seemed like something that only existed in books. Love has always been something I thought you had to work towards, but maybe you can see someone and know they are the one for. "Is he here?" I asked. I would love to meet him.

"No, he's working out of town for the last few days," Marcus explained. "But he'll be back sometime today."

"Oh, what does he do?" I bet he owns a million-dollar company or something.

"He's the head of a finance company," said Marcus. "It's a family business, my great grandfather started it and now my dad runs it."

"That's interesting," I replied. I'm still not quite sure what people do at finance companies, but it sounds like it makes money.

"What do your parents do?" he asked catching me off guard.

Nothing, they're dead. But I couldn't say that, I couldn't quite figure out what to say. It's been so long since I've had to tell anyone that my parents died. At my old school, it was common knowledge. Nia's the girl with the dead parents.

I've become so used to people knowing that now I can't even form the words needed to answer Marcus's question.

"Uh," I hesitated. "They don't work..."

"Oh, are they retired?" he asked looking down at me.

"No, my parents actually passed away when I was in the first grade," I admitted. Unconsciously, I clenched up and my throat began to tighten. This isn't a subject I talk about often. My grandmother will bring it up sometimes, and I thought I had learned how to approach the subject without crying. But I guess not.

"I'm sorry, Nia," Marcus apologized. "I wouldn't have brought it up."

I blinked back tears. I need to pull myself together. "It's fine, Marcus, you didn't know," I assured him. "It was a long time ago, I can talk about it."

"So who do you live with?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"I live with my Grandma," I said with a smile. She's my guardian angel. My Grandma means everything to me, everything I know, I owe to her. My love of seventies R&B and disco music, my intelligence, my bomb twist out method—it's all because of her. She's my best friend, I couldn't ask for a better person to take care of me.

"Anyways, weren't we going to study?" I said trying to change the subject.

Marcus looked relieved that I had started talking about something else. "Yes, we were," he motioned for me to follow him down the hall. "My room is this way."

Stopping at the end of the hallway, Marcus pushed open the door at the end of the hall.

"This is your room?" I asked in amazement, as I stepped inside. It looked like an apartment. My room could fit in his room-- twice. I'm not sure what I expected, but I wasn't expecting

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