Angelia -- I - Dad's Wow Girlfriend

Angelia

Chapter One

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         Until I met Angelia, I never knew that there are a hundred ways to make a bed, especially with many decorative pillows and comforters on it. I also never realized that some towels--the ones with embroidered flowers and initials with Neiman Marcus or Laura Ashley labels--are not for our use, but for display only. I'm thankful that this rule applies only to the guest bathrooms upstairs and downstairs, as well as in the master bedroom where she and Dad sleep. My bedroom and bathroom, as well as Jackson's, are exempt. We use towels that have been in the family since I can remember, and not the ones she brought in with her.

         When she first moved in with Dad, she used to include the kids' rooms to her cleaning schedule. I was 10 then, and Jackson was 5. After a year, she stopped doing it, saying that children should learn how to clean and keep their rooms neat. But we've never been neat around the house, and Mom and Dad always cleaned our rooms. So once every two weeks, Dad would help us clean our rooms.

         Mom and Dad share custody of Jackson and me. They alternate weekends, so, every Monday and Tuesday, then every other Friday, Saturday and Sunday, we'd be with Dad. Whenever Angelia was here, the house was always sparkling clean. It always amazed me that she always looked very nice like she was going out, and I wondered when she could have done all the work. Dad would pick us up from Mom's house and when we got home to Dad's, the dining table was already set for dinner, the way fancy restaurants set their tables. It was such an awesome sight the first time Jackson and I saw it, because Mom and Dad had never been that formal. Angelia also taught us to say grace before eating. She did it at first, then it became a tradition for me to say the grace.

         "Dear Lord, thank you for this wonderful food, thank you for the food in front of us, and thank you for the love between us."

         Jackson one time commented with a chuckle that I was being repetitious with my prayer. I just gave him a dirty look of protest. What did he know? He couldn't even say any grace.

          "Repeating it is twice the grace," Angelia said smiling. Dad looked very pleased.

         I'm getting ahead of myself here. I probably should talk about the first time I met Angelia. Again, I was 10, and Jackson was 5. It was on a Saturday morning. Mom was going on a trip and she asked Dad to pick us up and keep us through the weekend. Dad never said no everytime Mom did that, and she did it often. In the car, Dad told us that Angelia was in the house and it was about time that we met. I remember being excited about it and I said "Cool!" Before that day, I had talked to Angelia on the phone several times and we emailed each other. She sounded so nice and friendly. She talked as if she was always smiling.

         And then there she was in the living room waiting for us with open arms. She wore a black outfit, like the kind that executive women wear at work. I will never forget that beautiful wide belt she had wrapped around her slim waist. Her hairdo was very short and her makeup was very nice. She looked very pretty and stylish. She also looked tall then on her high heels. Today, I am two inches taller than her.

         I had never met an Asian woman in person before, and she looked so . . .exotic. I was mesmerized by her looks. And Jackson? Well, he was surprisingly nice. Mom and Dad's divorce had been much harder on him.

         We played a board game called "Sorry" twice. She won both times. I wasn't upset about it; it was fun playing with her. Jackson enjoyed it, too, and Dad looked very pleased that we were all getting along well and having a good time.

         We took Angelia to the airport that night. She was going back to California. I was sorry to see her leave. Jackson surprised Dad and me when he hugged her. "He'd never done that to anyone before," Dad said to her.

         It was strange to see Dad kiss a woman other than Mom. But I didn't mind.

         Once Angelia was gone, I asked my Dad, "When is she coming back, Dad? I really like her."

         "I don't know, dear," he said.

         And that's the way it's always been. No definite schedule when she's going to be here. Sometimes, she'd be gone for a month, sometimes a lot longer. And always, I could not wait for her to come back.

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         I woke up this morning and walked straight to the kitchen through the living room. I was greeted by the tons of dirty dishes all over the kitchen . . . on the table, on the counters and on the island stove top. Oh, and in the living room where we watched Pirates of the Caribbean again last night. Angelia gave me the DVD last Christmas as I requested. I think I'm in love with Johnny Depp. We had popcorn and drinks and left our glasses and bowls in the living room, not to mention the popcorn crumbs on the furniture and carpet. If Angelia were here, she'd be horrified. She never went to bed without a clean kitchen. It always seemed effortless for her.

         Dad and Jackson were still asleep in their rooms. I've made coffee, the Gevalia gourmet coffee that Angelia buys through the mail and is delivered here once a month. Hazelnut is her favorite flavor, and that's what I brewed. She introduced us to better coffees when I was only 10; now I drink it regularly. Sometimes, Jackson drinks it, too, but he puts a lot more cream and sugar in it than I do. I sat in the living room with my hot coffee and watched Pirates of the Caribbean again. I decided to wait for the guys to get up and make them help me clean up.

         Thinking back, especially now that I have to deal with the mess, how terrible for us to always leave Angelia with the kitchen work after eating, especially since she already did all the cooking. Dad, Jackson and I would retreat to the living room and watch TV or play video games. We could hear her hum or sing quietly almost to herself while working, and in no time, the kitchen is cleaned. How could anyone hum or sing while cleaning house? I don't know anyone who enjoys it. Dad used to help her clean up, and when she wasn't around, he'd do all the housework. When he lost his job and started spending a lot of time on the computer trying to create a consulting business from home, Angelia talked to me.

          "Your Dad needs to concentrate on his work," she had said. "I think you should help him up with the housework when I'm not here."

          "He never asks me," I reasoned.

          "He should never ask. He'd love you more for it."

          Mom always makes Jackson and I work when we're at her new house. We wash the dishes, sweep the kitchen floor, vacuum the carpet, clean our rooms, do the laundry, and sometimes, even cook for ourselves. Something simple like macaroni and cheese. A maid comes twice a month, but it's messy again the following day, especially when Ricky, our older half brother from my Mom's first husband, invites his friends over. They leave a lot of mess and Ricky never cleans up after themselves, so I end up doing the work, picking up the soda pop cans, putting away the game cube and disks and their cases, his dirty socks that he just leaves there in the family room, and worst, their stinky cigarette butts that make the room smell like rotten eggs. It makes me gag. Mom tells him not to smoke in the house, but it doesn't stop him. I love Ricky. We have fun with him playing outdoors, especially in snow, and he's very protective of us, but he's too lazy around the house, and I hate it. Now I wonder if Angelia ever felt this way about Jackson and me. If she had, we'd never know because she's very classy and nice all the time.

         Dad has never asked us to do any work around his house; as a result, I think he spoiled us. Jackson and I have always felt as though Dad's house is a vacation house, especially after Angelia came on board. I admit, it was always nice to come into a clean house where everything was in its proper place. Of course, in no time, especially with Jackson and his toys and games, the living room always turned into a disaster room. I understand now why Angelia would spend most of the time downstairs in the basement whenever that happened. Dad had told us in the beginning that she is a very neat and orderly person, so we should try to keep the house as neat as possible. I tried a little. Jackson listened but never obeyed, so Angelia would always put away his clutter after Jackson and I had gone to bed. In the morning, the place would be nice and clean again . . . but not for long.

         The basement, by the way, used to be just that--a dusty basement with nothing but clutter. When Mom moved out, she took with her most of the nice things in the house: the beautiful dining room and living room sets, pictures on the walls, and other furniture. What she had begun to pack and decided she did not want, she left in the basement.

         I remember how Dad worked so hard in clearing the basement before Angelia first came to the house. I didn't understand it then when he said that a new friend that he had met through the Rocky Mountain Explorers Club was coming over and he wanted to make an impression. That must have been Angelia who used to climb the Fourteeners in Colorado. Several months later, Angelia moved in, and not long after that, she transformed the basement into what adults call a boudoir. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it. There were huge framed paintings of California mountain scenes and fields of flowers hanging on the walls that she had brought from her condo in California. I knew she was an artist because Dad had shown us the greeting cards that she was sending before we met. "She painted those pictures on the card," he'd told us. I was extremely impressed and asked Dad to tell me more because I like art. Jackson didn't react. He was too young to appreciate such talent.

         When I saw Angelia's signature on the paintings, my jaws dropped. "Wow! You are very good, Angelia," I exclaimed. "You must make a lot of money doing these."

         She smiled. "Thank you, Ellaine," she just said.

         I examined everything in the vast room that used to be inhabited only by a colony of crickets and some spiders that made my skin crawl. Like a typical squeamish girl, I shivered, screamed and jumped at the sight of them so I avoided the basement. The insects must not like a clean place because they are gone now, replaced by luxurious rugs with Oriental designs that match the Laura Ashley draperies covering the windows. She draped even the walls without windows. I never knew people did this, but I love it. It makes the basement look as if it's got a lot of huge windows all over. It has about five windows, and from the way she dressed them, they look as if they extend from the ceiling down to the floor like patio windows. She placed tropical indoor plants below the actual windows, and with the thick lace sheers, you can't really tell that behind the plants was part of the plaster wall.

         The queen size bed, which used to be the only furniture stored in the basement, is now covered with fancy sheets and comforters, and lots of pillows. She ordered furniture from Neiman Marcus, which include an armoire for her clothes, a curio cabinet for the handmade ceramic vases that . . . yes, she also made herself. I was learning fast then that she is what people call "Jack of all trades."

         The nightstands have lampshades and floral arrangements that match the bed covers and drapes. Adjoining the bedroom is her office, which is furnished with solid oak furniture, a huge desk with a big hutch, two filing cabinets, and two bookshelves. Jackson's favorite is the leather chair because it's so comfortable, not like the one upstairs in Dad's office. My favorite is the entertainment center for the TV, DVD player and VCR and other electronic devices. The bathroom suddenly looked like someone uses it. The thick brown ring around the toilet, and the crud on the bathtub floor and walls and around the faucet had disappeared. How did she do it? It would have taken an army of maids to do all that. And I certainly never saw her looking like a maid. Now, there's a floral arrangement on top of the commode, as well as at the corner of the bathroom, perched on top of a pedestal. There are lots of plush towels hanging, and bathroom rugs on the floor that match the shower curtain. I wish my bathroom looked like this. She did give Jackson and me new Laura Ashley sheets and comforters and pillows for our rooms, so that was nice.

          "Daddy, who paid for all of these things?" I asked, when trucks started delivering stuff to us. After the divorce, I've heard him say on the phone to his mother that my Mom sent him to the cleaners. I didn't understand at the time what that term meant.

          "Angelia did, honey," Dad replied. "I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. Maybe I can pay her back someday."

         Angelia did not buy things only for the basement, which really does not qualify as a basement anymore because of the way it looks. It's never really a true basement but the first floor of the house. We just called it basement because that's the way it used to look like. She also bought things for the upstairs, like the entertainment cabinet, smaller than the one downstairs; a chest of drawers and a day bed. and a night stand for the guest room; several lamps, smaller end tables, rugs, bookshelves and lots of plants. She loves plants.

         Dad's house, without these things is still a beautiful house, with very high cathedral ceiling and pine wood all around. But with Angelia's touch, the house now looks like those houses pictured in Homes and Gardens magazine. My friends are impressed, which makes me very proud of Angelia.

         Even my friends have fallen in love with my Daddy's girlfriend, especially when Angelia sketches their portraits when they come.

          "I wish my Dad would find someone like Angelia," my best friend, Amy, whose parents are also divorced, once said.

         Amy's father is quite handsome and very well-to-do. I remember saying to myself that I hope he'd never meet Angelia.

         Okay, back to the kitchen. Jackson mumbled disapprovingly when I asked him to help out in the kitchen. Jackson picked up the dishes from the living room and put them in the sink, then he swept the kitchen floor; if you can call that sweeping. He just pushed the dirt to a corner and left it there with the broom. Dad washed the dishes after he had his coffee, and I dried and put them away. The dishwasher broke several months ago and Dad has not had it replaced. He said he doesn't have the money to pay for a new one. It took almost two hours for us to do straighten the place; still, the place didn't look clean enough. At least, not the way Angelia does it, at half the time. And not even once did we hear her complain about it.

          I was so tired by the time we finished cleaning. Dad went outside to shovel the snow off the decks and the driveway. I rested for a while, watching the rest of the Pirates' movie. Jackson came down from his room upstairs carrying some of this truck collection to play in the living room. His room is more like a mezzanine that overlooks the living room, and not a complete third floor to the house.

          "Oh, no, you're not cluttering up the room again with your toys," I yelled at him as he was coming down the stairs.

          "You can't order me that," he objected.

          "And why not?"

          "Because Dad and Angelia don't even do that."

          I couldn't argue. Now that I help clean the house, I am much more conscious of keeping it that way so I won't have to work as hard.

          "Okay, but you have to put them away after you're done with them."

          He didn't respond. He went back upstairs, and came down with a few more toys. I just shook my head in irritation. I knew that I would be the one putting everything away later.

         Angelia brought orderliness into a chaotic household. Now that she's not around, things seem to be returning to chaos. I like her approach to life much better. I miss her more and more. I wonder where she is right now. How come she hasn't called?

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