Never Let Me Go

"You can sit there and sulk or you can eat your favorite—" Caroline eased a plate of mac and cheese on the kitchen island. "I bet you didn't eat it in Paris, oui?" she added winking from behind her bottle-thick glasses.

My lips moved on their own. I'd missed the sweet, caring Caroline. She was the grandmother I never had—from my dad's side. She was already in her mid-sixties but she was up and about like a thirty-year old. If anyone could cheer me up, it was her. Not even mom knew all the ways to my heart. Caroline was like a Fairy Godmother.

"Se vrai," I answered in my own French false accent—it wasn't nearly as good as hers. "Aunt Ariel made me stomach frog's legs the first time we went out to eat—" I felt queasy just recalling the event. "Two minutes later I was puking in the restaurant's bathroom... After that, we mostly ordered takeout." I gave a shoulder-shrug. Ordering in wasn't something I did. Caroline cooked lunch, I helped her out with dinner. We were a home-eating family, as I liked to say. "I think the sushi's better there, by the way..." I mussed taking the spoon diving into the bowl. "...not sure why..." I managed between chewing—getting a scolding look. No speaking with my mouth full—noted.

The kitchen windows gave insight to the patio. My eyes kept moving back to the same spot. The pool house. A boy was living there—in my pool house, my personal hang out. Thanks so much, mom.

"Are you making the grocery list?" I snuck a peek as I walked over to the cabinet above the sink—taking out a glass. The round bun at top of her head bobbed as she nodded. "Chocolate powder, eggs, caster sugar—are you making brownies?" it was my favorite desert.

"Unless you don't wan me to—"

"No," I shook my head. "I do, I can help too." I'd been cooking with Caroline since I was five, cooking made my mind settle, ease—took my troubles away. "Are we going to Ralphs now?" since my mother had this awesome rule about me not getting my license before I was twenty—I think she was afraid I'd run away like my dad, or something—I had to depend on other people to go places. Or take buses. Which was okay, but going to Ralphs on a bus...? Walking would get me there five, ten minutes earlier.

Caroline looked up pointing the tip of her pen at the pantry.

"Check if we still have flour, dear?" I walked past the stainless steel appliances, thinking how aunt Ariel would call our entire house a waste of money. She and mom didn't see eye to eye on a few things, money and men were two of them.

I lit our walk-in pantry looking for flour, "There're still two packages."

I had to agree with my aunt, though. My house was in Belcourt; a gated community in Newport Beach. I'd lived here since I could remember and the house was amazing—it was like one of those places straight out from a magazine. Large living room with walnut hardwood floors, fireplace, high ceilings, large island kitchen with quartzite countertops, a formal dining room and a suite bedroom—where Caroline stayed. That was only the downstairs, because on the second level was my mom's luxurious master suite with a separate tub and shower, two walk-in closets, a large separate en-suite office. And of course, my bedroom was also incorporated with an ample bathroom. Then there was the common bathroom, the laundry room, the garage that could fit three cars inside... Aunt Ariel was right when she said our house was a big waste of money. It was pretty, sure, but... so materialist. Plus, we had the pool, the pool house that was a little bigger than my bedroom—all the nature planted on our grounds was green, healthy, well taken care off and some of it even exotic.

Walking out of my pantry I blinked.

"Is there anything else you need?"

"No, Liam, I think that's it—I doubled checked things this time. Wouldn't want you making the same trip twice, once was enough."

"It wasn't a big deal." He cracked a goodhearted smile. "And you did make me pound cake afterwards, I'd say your debt's been paid."

Caroline smiled shaking her head at the young man, facing me. Her smile brightened even more—it seemed a little impossible.

"Why don't you go with Liam?"

You know when someone rubs a balloon in their hair? The hairs all stand up because of the electricity the friction causes, well, my hairs all stood up when I heard her ask that.

Liam was leaning on the island gracefully—and he did own a shirt. At least he had the decency of putting something on.

"Aren't we going?" I dragged on the 'we' forcing my eyes on Caroline.

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Nonsense, Sophie! You know my doctor said I couldn't drive anymore—I failed my eyesight exam."

Right; one month away and it felt like everything about this place had been wiped away—almost everything.

"But... who's been grocery shopping?"

"I have. I've been going to Ralphs by bus—until one month ago." She patted Liam's arm. "He's been going every week." Which meant four weeks.

My eyebrow perked as I felt enervated by what I heard. This guy had taken over my house! He was shopping for us, what else had he been doing? Mowing the lawn? I wouldn't be too surprised at this point.

"Hello again," he caught my eyes in his—creating a web I couldn't seem to untangle myself from. His eyes were green like ripe leafs—and it wasn't important.

"Whatever," I mumbled at him, dragging my eyes forcefully to Caroline. "What...?" I whispered when I was met with her disapproving gaze. She was probably about to say I was being rude, only I didn't let her begin. "Is mom going to have a long day at the office?" I hadn't asked her about her schedule for today—being an Architect for a big real estate developing company wasn't easy.

Caroline gave me a puzzling look, "She always has a busy day, Sophie." Then she broke into a moderate smile. "Honestly, child, it's like you've forgotten how everything works around here."

"Yeah..." I glimpsed at the cause for my humor. "Must be from the Jet lag."

"I'm sure fresh air will do you some good." She said taking my finished bowl of comfort food into the washer. "Off you go,"

"Caroline—" I hissed between teeth.

Her index finger was pointing to Liam, not to me.

"Listen here, young man, you drive safe, you hear? You're taking my precious Sophie. I want her back in one piece."

"Yes, ma'am." He backed off the island, hand on his hips. "She'll be perfectly safe with me."

"You better hope so." Caroline's threat was half-joke, half-truth. And I was suffering because of her protectiveness. I wasn't something fragile, I wasn't made of glass—and I didn't need a guy to take care of me.

I'd always been fine on my own.

"Are you comin' then?" he asked, English accent sticking out like sore thumb—but it sat well with him. The sharply cut cheek structure, the though yet, slim shoulders. Celebrity worthy, I decided with indifference.

"I'll meet you outside."

"Fantastic," he grinned as I walked into the living room, heading for the stairs as if my legs had been charged with electrical current. I couldn't have gotten out of there faster. I was gone for a month and now a boy from London was living here—talking to Caroline like he'd always known her. The nerve.

I grabbed a bag from my walk-in closet. Small, brown but fashionable. I think mom bought it. I hastened to put in my house keys, the cell and wallet—I didn't' wear makeup or lipstick. Beauty was rewarded in our society, big time. In fact, according to a study published in Neuron: beauty triggers the same part of our brain that is affected by drugs like cocaine, heroin, and alcohol. I was never addicted to drugs, and sure as hell not to cosmetic beauty. Ads about facial stuff and creams were made so women thought they needed them to be good, to have power—to be at the same level as men. But that wasn't true. Makeup or no makeup we could be like them, or better.

Making my way outback I almost fell to my knees. My car—my precious-to-be car—was outside and James Bond was sitting on the hood.

I knew exactly what this meant.

"You've been driving my car?" I deadpanned, fisting my hands. Mom was taking too many steps into uncharted business—my privacy.

Liam hopped off, a arch of eyebrows was all it got out of him.

"This is your car?" I nodded forcefully. He whistled then, "I've been drivin' it. Your mom said... you didn't have the license?"

"Yeah,"

"But you have a car sitting in your garage?"

I knew it was stupid. I wasn't about to let him know that.

"It's none of your business." I stormed up to my convertible from 1964—it was completely new. I'd taken money out of my fund just to get it fixed, mom thought it brunt money. I didn't, though. I'd fallen in love with damn car when I first saw it in the dealership, it was half-way to a junkyard. "How could you not know it was mine?"

Tipping his head aside, he frowned ever so softly.

"I didn't think girls liked Corvairs—especially the ones in California." His lips turned up towards the end.

My face conveyed harsh lines.

"Just because I'm a girl?" my voice shook with fervent anger. Those word were the last thing a guy wanted to say to me.

Liam shrugged—I watched as each shoulder rose and dropped with perfect sync, kinda impressive.

"Yeah, what's the big deal?"

"Women have as much rights to like a Chevrolet—or any other car as men do." I snapped with a tight slit of eyes.

He took a step to the side getting closer to the driver's door.

"Didn't say they didn't," he looked down at the wheel for a second. "I was just surprised." Then, right before my eyes, Liam braced a hand on my Corvair's door—jumping into the seat. I thought my heart was going to burst.

Nearly on cue, I dropped to my knees to see if he'd scratched the paint. While my eyes scanned all over the door, the mirror—I heard a deep laugh.

"You're laughing?" I slammed my hands on top of the door. Liam leaned back in my car seat. "You better hope you didn't put a single scratch on it—if I find one it's coming out of whatever my mom's paying you." It wasn't about the money, it was... I was going to beat him up badly if any harm had happened to my car. "You don't just... leap into a masterpiece like this!"

Liam leaned his head to the side, lips deep into a smirk.

"Your car's perfectly fine." He patted the door. "Your mum's not so dramatic." He shared when I settled in my car reaching for the seatbelt.

With a scowl his way, I said, "I'm not my mother." And with that I turned my head to the right, watching the scenery passing as my lovely car purred.