I start toward the windows, but Brad’s mother appears with a welcoming smile. It makes me relax a bit. She’s a small woman like me. Her chestnut hair is swept back into a fashionably loose tumble that I could never master. Her skin is flawless. She wears light colors – white and cream – that radiate wealth. Diamonds adorn her earlobes, and I try not to gape at the huge diamond on her wedding ring. I could never pull that off.
Brad introduces us. Her name is Beverly, but I address her as Mrs. Fletcher. She holds out her delicate hand and I shake it gently.
She ushers us into the living room, and I’m drawn to the windows marveling at the view.
“Yes, it’s glorious, isn’t it?” she says. “When it’s clear.”
I hope my mouth isn’t hanging open.
“Wine?” she asks.
Brad assents for both of us and comes to stand beside me with his hand on the small of my back quelling my anxiety.
“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers, which makes me more nervous.
“Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher,” I say demurely when I accept the long-stemmed crystal wine glass.
“There you are, Bradley,” Brad’s father booms entering the room. “Magnificent view, huh?” he says to me.
“It’s… fantastic,” I say.
Brad introduces us. “Dad, this is Vera. Vera, my father, Winston.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Fletcher.” I smile.
“Everyone calls me Win,” he says. “Have a seat.” He settles onto the plush curved sofa.
I sink into the cushions while Brad continues to stand turning his back to the ocean to face us. He’s framed in light like a golden god. I feel so fortunate in that moment. He sees potential in me or I wouldn’t be sitting here with his father. I hope his parents see it as well.
“Let’s get to know you, Vera.” Mr. Fletcher waves his hand and ice clinks in the amber liquid filling his tumbler.
I take a gulp of wine.
“You’re a single mother, is that right?”
“I have two teenagers.”
“Well, now that’s got to be tough.” He chuckles.
“Do your parents help? And the father?” Mrs. Fletcher asks as she sits in a plush chair.
I shake my head. “They’re all back east.”
I don’t elaborate further. The truth is I’m not close to my parents. They’d chosen to judge me rather than support me, and my ex chose to move on. I look down at my lap.
“I hope you had a good divorce lawyer.” Mrs. Fletcher gives a little snort.
“Mom, that’s none of our business,” Brad cuts in. “Vera does well on her own.”
His rare compliment is followed by a short awkward silence.
“Now what kind of work do you do? What’s your vocation?” Winston asks me.
Vocation? I have two jobs that barely cover the bills. I live paycheck to paycheck. I have no career or prospects for one.
“I work in a call center.” I don’t even try to make it sound impressive and don’t bother to mention my second part-time job.
“Ah, customer service.” Winston nods. “The front lines.”
“Yes. It has benefits,” I add hoping that counts for something. Despite being part-time, one of my jobs provides minimal benefits.
“Why don’t I give Vera a tour of the house?” Brad interjects.
He gives me a little nod and I stand up and follow him thankful for the escape. I hadn’t thought much about how I would answer their questions. I’d spent all my time and energy fixating on my appearance, and now I have nothing to say. I have to think of something, something that will show I’m worthy of their youngest son.
“The main floor is the living area,” Brad intones like a tour guide leading me into the kitchen where a tantalizing aroma greets us.
The cabinets are dark cherry and atop the light gray granite countertops are trays of food covered with tinfoil. Two busy Hispanic women smile at us. There’s a wide refrigerator with a frosty glass door. I’ve never seen a refrigerator that huge. Who knew?
Off the kitchen is an octagonal breakfast nook jutting out the back of the house with a small round table above which is a skylight. Every panel holds a long window expanding on the view. It feels like you’re floating in the sky.
I stand and watch the silent waves crashing below. I see myself having breakfast at this table with the morning sun cascading through the windows bathing the space in golden light. I imagine casually surveying the awakening world below.
Brad has moved through a doorway, and I follow him into the family room with a brown L shaped couch, several recliners, shelves of books, games, and puzzles, and a large TV mounted on the wall.
“This room was for us kids,” Brad says. “My parents hardly ever came in here.”
Brad’s two older brothers live far away. One lives in England and the other lives in New York. They’re both married and successful. That’s all I know about them. Brad’s the one who hasn’t finished college, the baby of the family who was indulged.
“This was our boy cave,” he says with a smile. “We spent hours in here. My parents always knew where to find us. It was all mine once my brothers moved out.”
“That must’ve been lonely,” I say noticing the board games.
“Nah.” He waves his hand. “My friends would come over or I’d go to their houses.”
The front of the house hides the lower level that slopes down the back of the property. We descend the stairs to find four bedrooms, each with a view, a queen bed, walk-in closet, and private bathroom. Brad shows me his old room, which is painted a deep blue, but holds few personal items, other than a few books, albums, and trophies. I quickly scan these objects as Brad keeps moving.
We come to the far end of the wide hallway, and I gasp as it opens into the master suite. Windows wrap around the corner of the house displaying a spectacular view to the west. A thick white comforter looks as though a cloud has draped itself over the large bed with white padded headboard. Lacy pastel throw pillows are strategically scattered. A master bath with a skylight contains a huge jetted tub and double shower. There are two walk-in closets that are like small rooms. I can’t stop staring out at the waves ebbing and flowing below.
“Check this out,” Brad says, and I turn to see him patting a long narrow wooden cabinet whitewashed to match the bedding and dressers.
“What’s that?” I can’t see what’s so special about this skinny enclosure at the foot of the bed.
“There’s a TV in there.” He grins. “You press a button, and it rises up out of the cabinet so you can watch TV in bed. They like to watch the news and stock reports every morning.”
“Wow.” I’d never seen anything this luxurious. So, this is how the rich live.
“You grew up here?” I trail Brad back down the hall.
“I grew up in a smaller house. They bought this one when we were teenagers. They remodeled it a few years ago. Mom leaves our rooms so we can use them when we visit.”
“I can’t imagine having to clean this place,” I say.
Brad frowns. “My mother doesn’t clean.”
Of course. They pay someone. It boggles my mind.
“She used to cook, though,” he adds. “Sometimes. When she felt like it.”