Chapitre 8: Chapter 8
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The following day, after a day of work, Owen heard knocks on the door that were several decibels too loud.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Are they trying to knock down the door," Isabella muttered from the living room. She and Ophelia were watching a romance show on Wetflix. Isabella wasn't a huge proponent of romance. However, like him, when Ophelia asked it was hard to deny. Her puppy eyes were too cute to resist.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Coming, coming," Owen said. He turned off the stove and jogged to the door. Opening it revealed Mr. Schmidt, the burly owner of his condo unit. A perpetual scowl was etched on his face and all of a sudden Owen wished he had checked the peep hole.
"Mr. Schmidt! Nice to see you–"
"Rent is going up."
"Huh?"
Isabella muted the show, the two women preferring to listen to the conversation at the door from their cozy seats. They were out of sight, so it wasn't like Mr. Schmidt knew they were there.
"I said the rent is going up," Mr. Schmidt repeated. "Hopefully I don't need to say it again."
"I heard you but…again? You already increased it last month."
"Things are getting expensive, Owen. It's not my fault."
Whereas Mr. Schmidt was perpetually irritated, Owen maintained his composure. Why? Because there was nothing good out of getting angry. Nothing at all.
"I understand times are tough, Mr. Schmidt, but raising the rent so soon seems a bit much."
Standing your ground with confidence was better.
"Tough luck. I need to cover my costs."
Alas, today, neither confidence nor anger would suffice.
"It will be a grand and six hundred. I expect it in three days."
A twenty percent increase? Good lord. Feigning confidence, Owen nodded. "Alright, I get it. I'll adjust my budget. But let's try to keep these surprises to a minimum, yeah?"
"Things aren't getting any easier," Mr. Schmidt said. "Anything can happen."
'Anything can happen, especially three days before rent is due. Uh-huh.'
"I appreciate the heads up." Owen sent him a smile as he closed the door. "Have a good day, Mr. Schmidt."
Despite the door being closed, he waited for him to leave. He listened to his footsteps till they were gone and promptly locked the door. His forehead touched the wooden material, a thoughtful expression on his face. He would have sighed, if not for both Ophelia and Isabella creeping up behind him.
"Um, was that Mr. Schmidt?" Ophelia asked, worried.
Isabella crossed her arms. "Another rent increase? Really? Three days before you pay?"
Owen's expression flared with irritation, then went stoic. He shut his eyes, breathing, and turned to them with a smile. "Don't worry, I'll handle it."
He got paid seventeen dollars an hour. In a month, that was about two-thousand and seven-hundred dollars. Rent took up more than half of that, leaving him with a grand and a hundred. Factor in groceries, the internet bill, his and Isabella's phone bill, and…
"I've been thinking…" Isabella said, snapping him from his thoughts. "About getting a job. I feel bad that you're paying my phone bill and everything that I want."
"I have savings, don't worry," Owen replied, assuring her with a smile.
"But, but, isn't that for retirement? You said we shouldn't touch it…" Ophelia trailed off, her face saddening. "Maybe I should get a job too…"
"You know why you can't get jobs," Owen said politely. "I got this, girls, don't worry. If I let a little rent get me, then how in the world are we going to retire like royalty?"
The plan was to retire sometime in his forties. It wasn't the most luxurious plan but it was the best he could do while living within his means.
"Mmm." Ophelia gnawed on her bottom lip.
Then there was Isabella, staring at the floor as if she had killed a man.
The guilt was choking them.
"Jeez." He chuckled and put a hand on Isabella's shoulders. "Hey, look, it's not the end of the world yet. Don't feel bad about it."
"Except while you're working hard, I'm staying inside doing nothing and playing games," Isabella retorted. "I just…I feel like I can do more…"
"I don't mind you getting a job but while risking you. Plus, we both know you're not being a store associate or doing factory work."
"I'm not that socially awkward." Pause. "Okay, maybe I am."
"And me?" Ophelia raised her hand like a student. "What about me? I want to help!"
"The second you started working, you'd trip and fall," Isabella joked.
"That was school though! Not fair!" Ophelia humphed. "But…yeah, it is a little nerve-wracking. My English isn't very good either…"
At home, everyone spoke Spanish, though sometimes Owen and Isabella transitioned to English when they got deep into their discussions regarding anime and manga. Just last week when the One Piece chapter dropped, the two of them went into theory mode and spent an hour talking about Shanks and Blackbeard. Ophelia was convinced the former was going to be the secret big villain.
"Yeah, it's better not to risk it," Owen said. "Come on, I'll make us pancakes."
"Pancakes! Yay!"
Ophelia was successfully distracted. Isabella was not. Her arms were still crossed and she held eye contact, showing him her concern till the very end—till the smell of pancakes convinced even her sharp mind.
Silently, he reassured her with a nod. 'I know,' he was trying to tell her.
Beyond the issue of rent was Ophelia and Isabella themselves. They weren't supposed to be here. They came here to America under the Visa Waiver Program and were supposed to have gone back to Spain, their home country, in ninety days.
Certain circumstances out of their control prevented that and now…well, now they were here. Forever.
Put simply, his girlfriends were illegal immigrants. That was why they hardly went out. That was why he didn't want them working. If circumstances were different, he would have wanted them to work (though maybe not in sales or a factory). He encouraged it. Unfortunately, life didn't seem to align with his ideals…
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone