Chapter Twenty Five; Being Good.
When Letty had lost the Supra attempting to tail her through back alleys and narrow passageways, she realised the problem. She had nowhere to go.
She always figured she'd move in with Mia when her mother stopped coming home. But now, that plan had a flaw, a huge brotherly flaw. She didn't even have the money to shack up in the local hotel for the rest of eternity as she would have liked to.
She always knew her Aunt had wanted her to come and live with her, but there were two reasons she never entertained the possibility and put up with everything her mother did (or didn't do). It would mean no Mia, and no Dom.
The latter had lost its appear somewhat, but the former was still very much there, even if she did spent a lot of her time with Alex now.
If she'd had the sense to grab her mobile, she would be inclined to take this rant to Mia. Mia always understood. Of course, there was little point in telling her about her half relationship with her brother now; it was in tattered remains. And… she couldn't tell Mia about her mother…
So no, Letty guessed she couldn't rant to Mia.
She could probably mope and eat chocolate with her and blame it all on mother nature though. Plus, Mia would let her hide out in her bedroom until her mother went off for her night shift tonight.
Although they were out of chocolate.
Letty looped around and back to the shops, only occasionally throwing glances to the road, aware of a Supra that might appear and start a domestic in the middle of town end's row of shops.
With a mental list in her head, Letty made her way along the streets back the way she'd avoided.
"Leticia?" Letty froze at the idea of her mother appearing in the street to yell at her again. "Ah I thought it was you." The voice called again when she stopped in her tracks. Letty turned to find a tall dark skinned woman dusting dirt from her hands from the flowerpots she had just set outside her shop. "Is your mother alright? I haven't seen her in a while." Letty couldn't recall the ladies name to save her life, but she remembered her face, she owned the charity shop Letty was walking past. She took in all sorts of things, often donations from her mother; things that used to be her fathers, things that reminded her of him, things she bought on a whim then realised he would probably not have liked.
"She's well, she's on night shifts though." Letty lied as was second nature.
"Oh, well, I have something for her." The woman walked back into the shop and Letty once again ended up in her mother's jobs, following numbly back into the shop. "A while back, she said the hospital was asking for any books to be donated to the patient's library. Are they still doing that?" Letty followed her into the back room of the shop.
"As far as I know." Letty didn't have a clue to be honest, her mother often took her own finished books into work though, she liked for the patients to have something to take them away from their reality. The reality of the library was sad indeed though, it was nothing more than a glorified trolley of donated, dog-eared books lodged haphazardly and pushed by an old doddering man who was probably best off remaining within hospital grounds considering the whining cough he was hampered by. But she didn't know if they had a drive for books right now.
"I've been hoping I'd see your mother pass through. But I figured we kept missing each other." She pulled a sturdy carrier from behind a large doll and turned back to face Letty with it. "I've kept some books aside for her, would you mind?"
Yes, Letty wanted to say. It looked heavy, it would be doing her mother a favour she didn't deserve and quite frankly she didn't want to. But she wasn't about to unload her problems on the charity shopkeeper, she'd probably end up in the foster system within a week.
So Letty pulled out her grace and good daughter act and started lugging the new bag of books down the street. She managed the start of the chocolate aisle at the newsagents before the weight bore down too hard on her already thin patience. She grabbed a handful of whatever looked most tempting within her eyesight, paid and started a back breaking journey home.
Letty's mind spent the walk home thinking of all the other things she could have said to the shop keeper so that she could have gotten away with carrying the heavy books home, but of course, Letty didn't think of them at the time and was left seething to herself, muttering about her lack of intelligence between passers by.
Letty's plan of a detour to Mia's chocolate therapy was derailed at the sight of Dom's car parked in a rush job outside, so she returned, fully expecting her mother to be at work. When she shut the front door with her foot and finally set the bag of books down to relieve her aching arms she straightened up to find her mother in the archway, red eyes and puffy cheeks.
"Thought you'd be at work." Letty felt her bad mood slam back into her as soon as she saw her, the guilt of making her mother feel so bad hit hard on her.
"I spoke with your Aunt Carol." she sniffled.
"Great." Sarcastic and dark, Letty threw a hand on her hip and grabbed her bag again. "When are you kicking me out?"
"I wish you wouldn't say things like that Letty. I'm not kicking you out I-"
"Fine, when are you re-homing me?" she rephrased. "Do I get a chance to pack my stuff up and say bye to my friends, or should I just turn around?"
"Letty." Her mother sounded as tired and irritated as Letty felt. Good. "You're not going anywhere, okay." Letty didn't say anything. Her mother sighed and softened her tone, "Can we sit down?" Unable to find a reason as to why not, Letty led the way through to the living room to find the airer filled with newly washed clothes and noting a smell of melted cheese from the kitchen. It didn't stop her from giving the couch a wide berth and a death stare; it was where her shit show of a day got a whole lot worse. "I spoke with your Aunt Carol." Her mother repeated once more. "I'm going to be going to weekly therapy sessions. I've already booked them with the hospital's therapist." Letty didn't say a word. "Aunt Carol is going to ring daily before I leave for work and when I finish. I've spoken to my line manager and I've said I won't be taking any overtime for the next few months."
"Great." Letty stood, not at all believing it would last.
"We're not done." Letty's mother spoke quietly, but with strength. "Sit." Letty dropped back into the chair. "Where did you get the car from?"
"I won it."
"Did you steal it?" her mother asked.
"I. won. It." Letty repeated slowly.
"Letty you don't just win a car, that's not how this happens. They are expensive, you need tax, insurance, repair and upkeep, we don't have the money to afford a car, certainly not one like that."
"It's mine. I won it fair and square."
"If you won a car like that, then whatever you did for it wasn't fair or square. You need to give it back."
"It's mine!" Letty complained.
"You're giving it back and that's the last I'm hearing of it. If it's still on our drive I'll have it towed."
"You can't get rid of it, I have the paperwork for it, I own it."
"Not in this house you don't." Her mother rose to meet her, temper lined to temper. "What was Dominic Toretto doing in this house anyway?"
Letty had had enough, there were bad days and then there was today, which created a whole new level of bad. Her mother finally paid attention to nothing but her flaws and problems, Dom ruined their fragile relationship, mother nature kicked her in the womb every 5 minutes and add to that the fuck ton of books she broke her back to bring back to an ungrateful mother.
"I was fucking him in exchange for gas money." Letty maliciously spoke, rising to her feet. "I liked you better when you didn't give a fuck what I did." Letty snatched her mobile from where it was on the coffee table and stormed up the stairs to her small bedroom, slamming the door and shoving the door wedge under it from her side.
Thursday and Friday weren't any better, Letty had argument 2 to 23 with her mother during the times she was at home with her new schedule which had culminated with her mother taking the keys to her car and driving it from their house to the Toretto's before handing it back to a probably very surprised Mr Toretto.
Letty had skipped out on their usually Friday ride from school, and gone straight into argument 24 at home. Mia seemed to understand it was a family problem, even Dom hadn't come over or text her to which she found herself disappointed by. So as her mother left with the snapped judgement of 'you're grounded'; which neither of them must have believed would happen due to the sole enforcer leaving the house, Letty was surprised to find she didn't really care to go anywhere. She could go to the races, but she didn't know what she'd say to Dom. She could go to Mia's but Mia might be arranging plans with Alex and she didn't want to be the third wheel there. She could go out for the sake of going out, or she could stay in.
Letty had still to tell her mother about the donated books and decided to take advantage, spending the night on the sofa with escapism via a romantic fiction that would possibly bore her to sleep.
It wasn't too tedious, there was some plot line to go with the romantic theme of the cowboy that wanted a housewife to care for his 3 year old son. Naturally, his mother had died in childbirth and he had taken the child from town to town hunting down the perfect woman, until said perfect woman had kicked him out of her saloon with her shotgun pointed at his balls mistaking him for a child kidnapper that was troubling the area. Your usual romantic plot, but it wiggled its way into Letty's mind, it bothered her dreams as she crawling into bed that night, alone, empty and cold. It gave her a world she didn't know, problems she didn't have, but something she found she wanted.
Letty spun in the mirror, a floral dress adorning her, white stockings up her legs, hair pinned tightly in a professional curl, she was the ideal wife to return to. She had even picked up their son's toy cars from the carpet so he wouldn't slip on them when he came back from work. Their son was asleep, dreaming dreams of America muscle cars probably.
But as much as she looked the part, the reality was different. Letty returned to the kitchen, kitten heels clicking with each step. The closer she got to the kitchen, the more the dark anxiety seemed to eat at her.
She wasn't perfect.
Her first creation for their anniversary dinner was in the trash, her second attempt was likely headed the same way, proving she couldn't cook anything that didn't come with bullet pointed instructions on the packaging. Preferably just giving a time and oven temperature and nothing more.
She bit her lip looking down at the can of tomatoes on the side, hoping she could make it exotic enough to cover the lamb cutlets if she mixed in a few spices from the cabinet she never touched. Her attempt at the recipe marinade had ended with a funky smell taking over the kitchen, so when she'd reached to open the window she had knocked the side salad onto the burner and thus had only barely prevented a fire breaking out.
But she was meant to be the perfect housewife.
Letty tried to undo her hair, tried to unzip the dress that really wasn't her, but they wouldn't budge. She stumbled over her heels once more, but the buckles must be superglued closed on her feet, she couldn't release their trappings.
A buzzer went off, one that she knew meant he was coming home soon. Home to a lovely housewife and dinner she had prepared. Home to nothing like he wanted. Letty dashed to the cupboard, past the cutlets frying away and pulled out the plates and candles, tottering back to the dining room to set up. This was a nightmare.
How was she meant to know how to do this?
She caught herself in the hallway mirror again, there was marinade up her arms, lettuce leaves in her apron, pepper seeds in her hair… panic written plain as day all over her face.
She needed to pull it together, she needed to be perfect.
Checking once more on the cutlets and her only saving grace to this disaster she dove her hands into the sink overflowing with pots.
Washing became futile with salad leaves swimming mindlessly and clinging to any crockery it found.
Fingers dove between knives and forks to drag portions of tomato and cucumber from the drain, leaving shreds of onion between the burnt pans she hoped would come clean. With another glance at the clock she swore something very unlady like and dumped the load of burnt salad into the bin, another layer added to the growing pile.
But the lamb, it was still good, it was safe, it was tender and non-burnt; which was all she could ask for. She just needed to sort out her appearance, the rest could be fixed over.
Of course, when her dear husband pulled up 10 minutes later, it was a different story entirely.
"Letty!" the alarm in his voice was expected, after all, it smelled like a barbeque of old boxers in the house. "Letty!" there was even a light smoke curling along the ceiling in the kitchen.
"It's alright, there's no fire." Dejected, she answered his worry from where she sat on the kitchen floor.
"What happened?" and he stepped in. Dominic Toretto in his finest shirt and tie, returning from a day of hard work looking like a god. And she was sunk to the floor, teatowel with a scorch mark on in her hands, hair fallen from its pin, kinks in every direction, the peach tea dress covered in a red stain that had splattered up her arms and chest. "And what are you wearing?"
"Tomatoes." Thankfully it wasn't blood this time.
"No, I mean the dress." He threw her a smirk, one that said he expected this.
"I tried, okay." she whispered. "I really tried. But I don't cook."
"Yeah, I know." He picked his way between the chairs and contents of a horizontal bin to the hob. "What was it meant to be?"
"Which attempt?" she asked, earned a raised eyebrow. Either way it wasn't salvageable.
"The bin?" he asked.
"My foot got caught." She extended out a leg from under the skirt of the dress. He turned to see the inch heels, one wrapping tightly around a red swelling ankle.
"Jesus Letty." She felt like a disappointment, all he must want is a good wife, instead he got a failure that couldn't walk in anything that wasn't platformed.
She watched as he pulled the frozen peas from the freezer, cracked it in his hands and them wrapped them in her burnt teatowel from her lap.
He joined her on the kitchen floor, cradling her ankle gently in his hands, the makeshift ice-pack lightly pressed to the swelling as he slid free the shoe buckle and released her aching foot.
"I'm sorry Dom."
"What were you even trying to do? You know better than to try and cook." he chuckled, trying at least to improve her mood.
"I'll do better next time." she swore, she could be what he wanted, she could.
"Next time you might end up breaking something more precious than a plate or two." His thumb rolled slowly over her skin where he held her ankle. His eyes though, they pierced straight down into her soul. "How about you just let me cook from now on?"
"I want to be a good wife." she protested. "Someone who can cook and clean, and look proper in a dress and stupid heels."
"Why would I want that?" he smirked. "I've got a wife who is going to teach our son the difference between America muscle and Japanese steel." A smile tugged at her lips. "I've got a wife who can beat cops in a traffic race, anytime, anywhere."
"It's not exactly a skill." Letty muttered under her breath.
"I've got a wife that's next to me every night whether I'm dressed in a suit or engine oil."
"Mostly the latter." she added quietly.
"Or handcuffs." he expanded with a wink, his eyes to the ceiling as if he could see straight through to their bedroom dresser where red fluffy handcuffs sat after use last night.
She laughed, batting him on the arm with the oven glove by her side. "I've got you Letty. As disastrous in the kitchen as you are, I wouldn't trade you for a thing."
Letty shuffled herself across the distance, crawling into his open arms and wrapping around him. How did she get so lucky?
"One question though." he spoke over her shoulder. "Why is there salad here?" She laughed against him, her chest bouncing against him as it rumbled through her body.
"I figured a good housewife would insist upon feeding you salad."
"Bad housewife." Teasingly, he brought his hand down onto her ass in a sharp slap. "I want the good housewife I had last Friday."
"Last Friday we sat watching Thomas the Tank Engine's movie while eating Chinese in our pyjamas." He had commented the entire way through about how it was improbable that the engines wouldn't need regular maintenance with the jobs they were given and yet you never saw a mechanic.
"And there were no strange smells, no burn marks, no twisted ankles, no sad faces." He pressed a kiss to her neck. "and no salad."
"We fought over spring rolls, I'd rushed my shower and my hair was dripping onto you. We didn't even make it through the whole movie and you ended up carrying me to bed." she reminded him.
"First, you had way more than your share of prawn crackers, that roll was mine." It wasn't a one off argument when Chinese was delivered. "And you looked adorable in your jammies, even with wet hair, and you were tired. It had been a long day."
"I remember how that day ended…" she'd woken up as he pulled the cover up around her to get his own shower.
"Yeah, you assaulted me." he chuckled. He'd stepped out of the shower expecting to find her asleep in bed, instead she was in the raunchiest underwear he'd ever seen and had grabbed him by his towel, yanking him to the bed.
"I didn't hear a complaint." She ran her hand over his head, down to the tight muscles of his neck. "A good housewife would apologise for the assault though." She ran her fingers under the collar of his shirt, rubbing concentric circled into the overworked muscles there, a groan immediately slipping from his lips. "Perhaps a massage and early bedtime?"
"Your foot?" he asked, gentle skimming over the ice-pack resting on her ankle still.
"Don't need it for what I have in mind." She pressed her lips to his earlobe, sucking it between them and nibbling a little; just how he liked it.
"I have the best housewife ever." he announced, shifting her into his arms and making way to the bedroom, the kitchen left as a warzone, a bag of frozen peas abandoned where it fell of the stairs, perfect for defrosting and leaving a wet patch in the morning.