Chapter 4

By the time I woke the next morning half the day was gone. It only took me a moment to realize what had woken me up; a vacuum cleaner. I don't own a fucking vacuum cleaner.

I dress quickly and go into the living room, where I see Taylor swinging the contraption back and forth over the carpet. The coffee table has been wiped down, all of the trash has been thrown away, and everything has been dusted. Even the couch looks cleaner than I can remember. I smell coffee. I don't own a coffee pot either.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask.

"This is called cleaning. Obviously a foreign concept to you…." She answers. She's cleaning in her underwear. Black panties and a blue striped bra. She has a tattoo on the small of her back.

"Where'd you get the vacuum?" I ask. I start towards the kitchen to inspect the coffee smell. Maybe I'm going crazy.

"The lady across the hall," she answers simply. As soon as I reach the kitchen I realize she's hit here too. The counters have all been scrubbed and all the dirty dishes have vanished from the sink. Holy Christ, what have a gotten myself into?

"Picked up a babysitting job too," she adds. Shit. The single mom in 302. She's not even thirty yet and she's got three insane little brats. All boys. She keeps hitting on me. I keep avoiding her. And now, apparently, I've borrowed her vacuum.

And, opposite the sink, sits Mr. Coffee. My third roommate.

"Where'd this come from?"

"I bought it," she says, turning off the vacuum.

"With what?" I ask, getting myself a mug from the cupboard.

"Your credit card." She rolls up the cord and rolls the vacuum into my bedroom.

"I thought you said you weren't a thief," I said, opening the fridge to see if the milk has soured yet. To my great surprise, new groceries pack my refrigerator. I forgot what it's like to live with a woman.

"Pardon me for wanting to eat," she says. "You can do your own room, but she wants it back tonight. She's OCD or something."

Next to the milk there's a case of beer, and there's a new pack of cigarettes on the counter next to my car keys. My brand, not hers. "How'd you get to the store?"

"How do you think?" she says, lighting a cigarette for herself. I can't get mad at her. I did the same thing all the time. And I don't want to be one of those lame, hypocritical dads. Shit. I'm in deep.

She pulls out one of her notebooks and a pen, and opens it up. She writes quickly, but I don't want to ask about what. Maybe it's one of those teenage girly things. Besides, Captain Crunch and I have an appointment, so I don't really care.

"What are you doing today?" she asks, scribbling away.

I have to think for a moment, then clear my mouth of cereal goodness. "I don't know."

"Good, I'm taking the car again," she says, stubbing out her cigarette.

"Where?" I don't really care, I just want it back in one piece.

"I have to register for school, the semester starts soon," she answers, completely absorbed in her writing.

"You're going back to school?" I had assumed last night, since she showed up here in Chicago, that she had left Shermer High long behind.

"No, the community college, retardo," she says. "I'm done with High School."

This confuses me. Claire is usually pretty good about sending me Taylor's report cards and things like that. Always trying to keep me connected or something. I figured I would have gotten a graduation announcement at least. "When did you graduate?"

"I didn't, I got my G.E.D."

I have to hold back laughter, "You're mother let you do that?"

"Mom is easily controlled," is all she says. I watch her from the kitchen for a bit, sipping my coffee. Taylor suddenly sighs heavily and looks over at me impatiently.

"What?" is all she says.

"What?" I say back.

"You want to know what I meant by that. I know you do." She's grinning slightly at me. A know-it-all smirk. It's almost sickening how much this kid is like me. More proof for the nature versus nurture theory. It must drive Claire crazy.

"Fine," I sigh, pretending not to be interested. Anything that bugs the Queen of Shermer, Illinois is bound to entertain me.

"Mom just popped out Mr. Cleaver's second puppy yesterday. Or maybe today, I don't know. I jumped ship as soon as her water broke. Figured she'd be too distracted to come after me. She'd put me under house arrest." Taylor says, picking her pen back up and doodling in the top corner of the page she's writing on.

She's baiting me again. She might be rude and brass like me, but she's manipulative like her mother. I sigh, "Go on."

"Well, mom wasn't too thrilled by the fact that we were pregnant at the same time." I feel someone hit me in the stomach. Hard. I think his name is Irony.

"What?" I stutter, spewing cereal on the freshly cleaned counter.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, John, I'm not really preggers. I just told her that, cause I knew she'd not want me to go back to school. By the time I was done with the waterworks she was thinking the G.E.D. was her idea." Taylor is smiling at herself. She's obviously very proud of her work. "Then I just waited till she popped, took some advanced allowance from Bill's wallet, and split. And voila, this lovely reunion."

Now I'm smiling. She is soooo my kid.