Between two worlds

"Thank you," I said as I pushed the car door open.

He slightly pulled my hand back.

"What?" I asked irksomely, exchanging glances between him and his hand that was still on mine. He got the message and quickly let go.

"Will you just leave like that?" he asked.

"Should I pay for the ride? I don't mind," I snapped.

He smirked. "You're too pretty to do so, fine. Can I have your dials?"

"No," I replied curtly. I was already too tired to prolong this conversation, which I assumed might not end well-or worse, change my mood.

"Bye," I concluded as I stepped out and slammed the car door shut.

"Damsel," he soliloquized with a smirk before driving off.

I had already had a bad day, and going on a date with him made everything worse. Nevertheless, the day was not over yet. I knew exactly who was going to deal with me-and who I was going to deal with-once I got some rest.

Because I needed it. Badly.

Dragging my feet inside, I barely made it past the door before I saw my forty-two-year-old loving, dramatic, strict, single mother standing with her arms folded across her chest.

She had clearly been waiting for me.

I shook my head in disbelief and ignored her, dropping my bag on the table before bouncing onto my soft couch with a deep exhale.

"I guess we'd call it a day," I sighed.

My mom finally broke the silence. "What's your excuse this time? He's not your type?"

"Exactly. He's not my type. He has countless flaws. I know the ship would sink if we started riding it, so never mind," I replied tiredly, pulling off my heels.

I adjusted my tiny pillow and laid back peacefully. Or at least I hoped it would be peaceful-if only my mom didn't decide to lecture me all night about life and marriage.

After all, I had rejected more than twelve proposals.

Those men just weren't HIM.

"Give love a chance, Angel. Please," she pleaded. "It's good to marry early, my love."

"Okay," I replied curtly

A few minutes later, an unusual silence filled the house.

I turned and, to my surprise, saw my mom bent over, her face buried in her hands, crying like a toddler deprived of food.

I sat at the edge of the couch, watching her cry.

A sharp pain stabbed my chest. I hated seeing my mother cry. I felt guilty, but I knew exactly what she was doing

If I consoled her, a promise of marriage would soon follow, and I wasn't ready for that conversation. Not tonight. Not ever.

But I had no choice.

I leaned closer, sat beside her, and rested my head on her shoulder.

"Mom," I called softly.

"Angel," she replied, her voice breaking. "Please."

"I have other goals to achieve, Mommy. Marriage is just not one of them," I tried to convince her.

I sighed, then added, "I'll try again, I promise."

My fingers were crossed behind my back.

She didn't see it, but I had a feeling she wasn't fooled.

After spending a few minutes enjoying the mother-and-daughter moment, I felt like a baby-completely forgetting that I'd be clocking 23 very soon.

Who cares anyway?

I sighed and stood up. "Take your drugs and go to bed. It's already late, this woman."

She sniffed dramatically but nodded.

"I was thinking that-"

"Good night," I cut in immediately, grabbed my bag, and walked to my room, shutting the door behind me.

Tossing my phone on the bed, I collapsed face-first onto my pillow.

What a life. What a guy.

I groaned into the pillow before flipping it away. Without hesitation, I dialed Michael's number.

It barely rang three times before the annoying thug voice came through.

"Ah, bozo, how was your date with your dream man?"

I rolled my eyes irksomely. "I swear, if you were standing in front of me, I would have pulled your face and given you a tight, brain-resetting knock on the head."

Michael chuckled. "Was the date a disaster? Was he proud, ugly, broke, bad accent, horrible fashion sense, aged, or he just wasn't your type again?"

"He was... ughhhh. I'm short of words. Firstly, how do you know him?"

"An old friend I met a few weeks ago. He's in search of a full-time housewife-plans on taking care of her, keeping her with his old sick aunty in the village, and then traveling abroad to continue his life."

"Jesus!" I screamed unknowingly.

Michael burst into laughter.

"Breathe, you won't die, my love," he teased.

"Watch your back, bozo. I'm coming over tomorrow. You'll pay, I promise."

"You can't do anything, bed bug. Go to sleep," he said before hanging up.

I hissed and flopped back onto my bed.

The next morning, I didn't hesitate when I arrived at Michael's door. He had an old habit of leaving it unlocked whenever he was home. Without bothering to knock, I pushed it open and walked in.

Michael, sprawled lazily on the couch in a plain outfit, barely lifted his head. A smirk tugged at his lips.

"Sooner than I expected. Not bad," he chuckled.

I grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it at him. He dodged it just in time, laughing.

"You set me up, idiot!" I growled.

"You're just ungrateful," he shot back, his grin widening. "I simply gave you an opportunity to meet your dream man, the love of your life."

"Nice," I scoffed, folding my arms across my chest. "A man that wants me to be a full-time housewife and take care of his sick aunty in the village while he flexes abroad? I know you don't like me."

Michael burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. "He's considerate! He promised to take care of you."

I grabbed another pillow, ready to smack him again, but a sudden knock on the door made me freeze mid-action.

I arched a brow. "A visitor?"

Michael looked at me with pleading eyes. "Something like that."

Before I could pry further, a female voice called out, "Michael?"

A dark-skinned, chubby lady strutted into the room. She wore a short, blue floral gown that exposed butterfly tattoos on her lap, paired with white sneakers. A short blonde wig sat atop her head. Her fashion sense was decent-I unknowingly smiled at it. But that admiration faded the moment I noticed her darting glances between Michael and me, suspicion clear in her eyes. She stood still for a few seconds before blurting out the predictable question:

"Who's she?"

I didn't even blink. I had heard that question countless times from Michael's revolving door of women.

Michael leaned back casually. "Oh, Sandra, she's my househelp. I mean, a chef for today."

"Wait! What? Me? I-"

Before I could object, Sandra had already turned her attention to me, her lips curling into a smirk.

"Interesting," she mused. "Since you're here, I'd love to have a light breakfast. French toast, egg sauce, and fresh orange juice. And yes, be careful-I hate burnt toast."

I stared at her for a long moment before plastering on my fakest, sweetest smile. "Of course, ma'am. Would you like gold flakes on your toast as well? Or perhaps I should fly to France and personally bring back a chef for you?"

Sandra frowned. "Just get it done."

Michael, barely holding back his amusement, stepped back, fully ready to enjoy the chaos.

Rolling up my sleeves, I grinned. "Coming right up. I'll make sure it's extra special for you, ma'am."

Sandra didn't catch the sarcasm, but Michael did-and judging by the way he bit his lip to stifle his laughter, he knew something was coming.

Minutes later, I placed her meal on the dining table. Sandra took one look at it and wrinkled her nose in distaste. Still, she picked up a fork, took a bite of the French toast, and immediately spat it out.

"Disgusting! What is this?" she demanded.

"Food," I answered curtly.

"Food or poison?" she spat again.

Michael coughed to hide his laughter.

"Get me water. Cold water," she ordered.

I handed her the glass of water that was already in front of her.

Disrespectfully, she poured it onto the floor. My eyes twitched. Michael could tell I was biting my tongue, suppressing my irritation. He was enjoying this way too much.

"DON'T ever give me water without a tray under it! Do you understand?!" she snapped.

I inhaled deeply, forcing a smile. "Yes, ma. You wouldn't mind tasting the egg sauce, would you?" I asked sweetly.

She scoffed. "I hope it's not poisoned, huh? Fine, let me have it."

She scooped a spoonful into her mouth.

The moment the spicy heat hit her tongue, she jumped up, eyes wide in horror. "Oh my-!!! It's spicy! My goodness! Water!"

She gasped, fanning her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. I reached for a glass of water and extended it toward her. Just as she was about to grab it, I pulled it back.

She froze in shock. "What-?!"

I turned on my heel and sauntered into the kitchen, ignoring her frantic gasps. Michael nearly choked on his laughter.

When I returned, I held the water with a tray beneath it, giving her a knowing smile. She snatched it and gulped it down like her life depended on it.

Once she recovered, she shot me a glare filled with pure venom. "You-"

I cut her off with a bright, innocent smile. "Is there anything else you'd like, ma'am? Perhaps a five-course meal? A smoothie flown in from Dubai? I aim to please."

Michael lost it. He burst into loud laughter, clutching his stomach as he doubled over.

Sandra shot him a betrayed look before standing up abruptly. "I have somewhere to be."

She grabbed her purse and stormed toward the door, muttering under her breath.

Michael wiped tears from his eyes. "You are the devil, Matilda. The actual devil."

I shrugged, suppressing my own laughter. "Oh, come on, I was just giving her a five-star experience."

He shook his head, still chuckling. "Remind me to never piss you off."

"Noted," I smirked, plopping onto the couch.

As Sandra's furious footsteps faded outside, I turned to Michael.

"By the way, how do you know that... lovely guest?" I asked, arching a brow.

Michael smirked. "Oh, Sandra? She's a distant cousin."

I scoffed. "You have the weirdest family members."

Michael burst into laughter while I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at his misfortune.