They were everywhere, I swear. Pets I didn't even think were legal roaming the house. Ferrets sneaking off with my jewelry, monkeys following me every time I brought out food, and sugar gliders crying at night. And don't even get me started on Cinderella and her beady little eyes. She hides all day, but as soon as I settle in to watch Love Island in the living room, she pretends she can jimmy open her cage while glaring at me. And honestly? I forget half the time that there's a nine-foot snake curled up in that massive glass tank.
Aunt Milly insists her "friends of the earth" cleanse the space, but I'm just wondering if she's ever considered cleansing her house. Still, I can't complain too much. At least the room she made for me is clean and empty—and it is her home, after all. I just need a balance between the eccentric chaos of her world and the one I knew I was meant for: business and fashion. I've always loved the crispness of a professional look, the way business-casual clothes transform me. While Summer and her friends used to gossip about bad-boy types during our late-night drives through Augusta, I couldn't help daydreaming about the man in the perfectly tailored suit I would one day marry.
College was a breeze in Georgia. I woke up two hours early every day to perfect my look and practice walking and talking like the fashionista-businesswoman I knew I was—even if it was only for the McDonald's drive-thru line. I didn't care that I stood out on my childhood hillbilly street. I was going to grow into my dreams: Marcie Andrews, fashion designer, proposal writer, extraordinaire. Can't exactly say that now, though, with an In-N-Out burger stuffed in my mouth. One of the monkeys ransacked my candy bowl, and let's just say the sugar crash was so catastrophic I had to step out. I told Aunt Milly I'd be back soon while she soothed her precious Coco Bean, but now it's been an hour and I'm tempted to order more food. One look at the lines inside—and at the drive-thru—was enough. I may have patience, but not for a food line longer than Disneyland's. So I took a slow drive around in Aunt Milly's Toyota and ended up circling the empty parking lot of my new job at the cleaning business we both work for. I couldn't help thinking about the future—and whether this new life would ever feel like mine.
It isn't a bad job, but it isn't great either. We start whenever a company needs us—early mornings or late nights. Now that Aunt Milly has "dog yoga" in the evenings to help ease his anxiety (don't even ask), I've started covering both our shifts just to pay the bills. It's easy work, sure, but I need a real plan. Something that gets me closer to the career I actually went to school for: fashion design and proposal writing.