Maid - Stephanie Land Page 0,51
of a partner, there was one thing I couldn’t seem to let go. After a couple of weeks of passing it multiple times a day, I asked Travis if I could stop by to tend the garden. I hated seeing it so overgrown and wilted; perfectly good food going to waste.
“Okay,” he said after a long pause.
“I could bring Mia with me to hang out for a while,” I said. He seemed fine with that. Travis said he’d try to stay involved with Mia’s life as much as he could. But summers meant hay season, and most days he worked from dawn until dusk. She liked to ride on his lap when he mowed. At least she could have a few more times spent in his lap.
Our new life began at seven o’clock each morning. I would climb out of bed, shaking the sleep from my body, and heat water on the stove for coffee. I made one cup for the morning and then poured a cup for the road in a jar. Mia usually ate oatmeal or cereal. Sometimes I’d add water to pancake mix and she’d watch me scoop steaming silver-dollar-sized pancakes onto a plate before adding a dab of butter and syrup. I made do with the usual peanut butter Clif Bar in the pocket of my Carhartts and a toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich wrapped in a paper towel and tin foil that I’d reuse until it fell apart.
With rent, utilities, car insurance, gas, my cell phone and Internet, the Laundromat, and toiletries, my monthly expenses hovered around $1,000. When Mia or I needed new shoes or even toothpaste, I had to refer to my budget posted on the wall, with a list of each bill that was due and what date it came out of my bank account. That meant only $20 to cushion any unexpected blows, like an electric bill that was bigger than usual. Had I not received a government grant for childcare, I wouldn’t have been able to afford to work at all. Since my income was higher, I had a monthly co-pay of $50. More in wages meant I received a smaller amount of food stamps—around $200 each month now—and it was still all the money I had for food. Even with the increase in money coming in, I had more bills and less supplement coming from the government. So most months we had only about $50 left over for activities or household goods. With the amount of time and energy I spent physically working, the burn of not being able to afford necessary staple items was even more painful.
The downtown location of our new apartment proved to be a blessing. There was a food co-op where Mia had her own “banana card,” which earned her a free apple, orange, or banana every time we shopped. I could use our food stamps to buy one of their deli sandwiches on clearance, yogurt or hummus for Mia, chocolate milk, and her chosen fruit. We’d sit at a table by the big windows that faced the sidewalk. I’d get a drip coffee for a dollar. We sat, smiling at each other, appreciating the ability to go out to eat.
Down the street was a consignment store called Sprouts that had only recently opened. Sadie, the young, blond girl who owned it, was always there with her daughter either strapped to her chest in a carrier or in a playpen.
“Can you take another one of those travel cribs?” I asked her as she sorted through the bags of clothes I’d brought in. Sadie paused for a second to think.
“Is it in good condition?” she asked, bouncing a little to keep her baby asleep while she examined the items.
I had to tell her about the hole in the side of the mesh. “But it hasn’t been used that much,” I said, then decided to add, “I have a jogging stroller, too.”
“I can only give store credit for equipment,” she said, her nose scrunched up with disappointment. “Not cash.”
“Okay,” I mumbled.
She opened the cash register to give me $20 for the clothes. “There’s a lot of nice stuff in here,” she said, smiling.
“I know,” I almost whispered. “I’d been saving it for…” I sucked in my breath, looking at the newborn onesies I’d carefully packed away in the chance Travis and I ever had a baby. “I’d been saving it for no reason.”
Sadie somehow knew what I meant, or maybe she just acted like she did.