Today was wash and iron day, but the last two weeks were a blur.
After an emergency trip to the hospital in regards to her youngest sister's weak lungs, last minute study sessions with the triplet, getting acquainted with the job, and of course, the single most embarrassing moment of her life, Xiomara decided to let her guards down and enjoy the peace that folding and ironing clothes brought to her.
Normally, she had dinner ready at six on the days she worked, but Willem didn't come home usually until after eight. That meant he was either a workaholic or he was straight up avoiding her.
And with good reason. She'd all but force her tongue down his throat the first day she met him.
Embarrassing. The memory was cringeworthy enough to make her want to bury her head in the sand like an ostrich and never come back up.
The way he'd kicked her out of his office ... priceless. The next day, she had shown up anyway, with her tail tucked between her legs like a dog that had been shooed one too many times and still didn't give a damn. Because... hustle.
Yet, she had to admit, she had acted totally out of character. She was known for acting impulsively, but going out on a limb and kissing a random stranger was a first for her.
Willem had been nothing but nice to her. He had given her a job just when she had almost given up hope, and somehow she had gotten the signals mixed up. Maybe her reaction was some kind of hero worship - lifesaver, you-saved-me-when-I-was-drowning kind of syndrome. However, thanking him by kissing him wasn't her smartest idea yet.
Nope. She'd acted plain out stupid.
The apology came a few days ago when she saw Willem hitting on one of the machines in the makeshift gym like he was desperate for the equipment to shred him apart, when in fact, he was the one doing the shredding. The sound of the metal protesting against the assault was so agonizing, it had her feeling bad for an inanimate object.
Willem seemed to work out quite often, but he wasn't big. Not like Omar. He was more refined, his body sleek and toned. He had accepted her apology and then they'd talk, casually, almost like old time friends. That's how she found herself opening up, and telling him things she would not have told a guy like him.
Since he wasn't interested in her, she didn't see a downside to it, except that now maybe he could see past her body-flattering thrift shop outfits, to the girl underneath it all. The Jlo from the block. That kind of girl. It was easy to make the world believe she had a glamorous life by dressing well, styling her hair, and making damn sure she smelled like a million bucks, even if the perfume only cost her two dollars and fifty cents because she bought it at the market.
A lack of sufficient funds was a none factor when it came down to being on point. It was her pleasure to dress to kill without breaking the bank.
Fake it until you make it. That's what they say. People gave away brand name stuff to the Salvation Army all the time. Cue the Michael Kors bag sitting in her closet just for special occasions.
Xiomara pulled herself away from her musings and walked into the laundry room. She picked up the basket of clothes Filo had set out for her to iron and carried it to the guest bedroom, where she dropped it on the floor and proceeded to open up the ironing board.
She got a small jar to put water in the iron. At the sink, she cranked the left tap with the red marking on it and yelped when hot water landed on her fingers.
Oh, the luxury.
She sucked on her burnt thumb and waited for the jar to fill up before going back to the bedroom.
Growing up poor wasn't easy, and with six siblings - herself making seven - living in a tiny two bedroom apartment, shit was hard. Her mother worked as a maid, making just above the minimum wage. That was barely enough to feed two people, let alone four rambunctious boys with stomachs the size of mars and three girls who wanted to be model thin.
To top it off, Sint Maarten was expensive. Tourism was what drove the market and because everything was imported, it drove up the prices to a ridiculously expensive point. From bread to clothes. Nothing came easy unless you were rich.
Now, she was the only one old enough to work legally, although the boys did try to help by packing bags at the supermarket. It wasn't enough.
Not enough to keep them in school and their bellies full. She had barely graduated high school a few years ago, and because her family needed her, she'd never gone on to pursue anything more. However, she wanted more than that for her siblings. Especially the triplets. They were incredibly smart.
"Xiomara!"
"Yes, Filo?" She rushed out of the guest room and skidded to a stop in front of Filo's bedroom door, about three doors down the hall. "Something wrong?"
The older lady looked up from her love seat and smiled. "No no. I was wondering what you were up to. I'm going downstairs in the backyard to read. Need some fresh air. Might even take a stroll down to the beach, if my hip would allow it."
"Ah, okay. I'm in the guest room... about to iron some clothes. Call me if you need anything?"
"You're allowed to take a break, you know that. You're not a slave here. Aren't you hungry?" Filo tried to get up from the seat but sank back down with fatigue.
Xiomara was immediately at her side, helping her up. "I ate something in between."
"You're as thin as my finger. I don't know how you still manage to have a butt and keep all those curves."
"Genetics."
She picked up the romance novel that Filo was reading from the table and handed it over. It was amazing how Filo took full of advantage of the little things in life, like reading. The last time she had sat down to read a book, she had been fourteen, and without a care in the world. Now that was bliss.
It didn't matter then that they were poor, just as long as she could escape it all by delving into the minds of authors whose sole job required them to live in a fantasy world where everything was possible.
Filo grasped the book, her thin, tapered fingers curling around the spine. Xiomara continued to help her shuffle to the door. "You should eat more. The food is free. Willem won't charge you for it. You can even take food home if you want."
Her feet stopped moving as alarm bells started going off in her mind. Had Willem told Filo about her background? She hadn't gone into details the few times she'd spoken to him, but someone with a keen mind would be able to put the pieces together quickly. And it appeared like nothing ever flew too fast over Filo's head. Either that or she always had her nose to the ground.
"I wouldn't want to impose," Xiomara said after a while. "Willem pays me well, way more than I deserve for only three days of work."
Sturdy hands settled on the doorknob for support. "The offer still stands. Whatever you need, just ask."
"Thank you. Do you need me to help you down the stairs?" Filo didn't look that well today, her lovely aging skin had turned gray under her fair complexion, and Xiomara was slightly worried. The other woman was old, but she was quite capable of moving around by herself. Maybe she was just tired today.
"No, I'll take it from here."
Xiomara watched as Filo wobbled down the stairs at one mile an hour, her foot hitting each step with a loud thump. She hoped she got to live that long, but she didn't want to be alone like Filo was. There had to be more to life than being alone at seventy.
She wanted kids, a lot of them. But she never wanted to subject her children to what she went through as a child. Her mother had gotten pregnant at seventeen, and by the time she hit twenty-seven, one child had become seven kids. Even though the triplet counted as one pregnancy, the numbers didn't lie.
Walking back into the guest room, she turned off the AC and opened the windows. She didn't want the steam and heat from the iron to intermingle with the cold artificial air. That's how people got sick, and she couldn't afford to miss precious days of work because she had a cold.
While ironing her fourth shirt, the ping of her WhatsApp went off. Bored out of her mind, she opened the app. It was a message - a video, to be exact - from her seventeen-year-old brother, Josh.
She pressed the play button in the center of the video and the sound of a Latin woman moaning loudly and shouting in Portuguese floated out of her phone's speakers. The woman was on her knees and behind her was a stallion of a male ramming himself repeatedly into her.
"Holy mother of God," she breathed, her fingers fumbling to stop the explicit video from playing on her screen. It was a while before she composed herself and was able to type.
I'm telling mom! She sent the text accompanied by the angry emoticon. Several of them, as if that would somehow tell Josh in just how much trouble he was in.
A response was quick to arrive. Oh shit! Tht wsnt mnt 4 u.
That's what ur doing now, Josh? Sending pornographic material over the internet. I will deal with you when I get home. You best believe that.
This time it took a little longer for a response to come in. Whateva, im a grown man. And since whn did u turn into a snitch?
Since you thought it was cool to send porn to your older sister. She typed back.
Josh read the message but didn't reply.
Xiomara sighed and slumped back into the chair closest to her. She could feel her blood start to heat up, rushing to tighten her nipples.
The snippet of the video had been smoldering hot, and it didn't help that the male porn star had somehow resembled Omar. He too was built like a powerful stallion. Thick neck, ripped muscles, massive pecs, and thighs as strong as roman age columns. Omar was like a modern day Samson from the bible.
The Bible! Yes, that should help her calm her tits. She covered her eyes and bit down on her lip, trying to resist the call of her body - to resist the spasming call of her sex as liquid heat slowly seeped out of her.
Okay, so this was happening.
"Not here," she moaned. "I can't do this here. I work here."
Jesus, help her.
*****
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Taylor Swift - I knew you were trouble