This Much is True - Tia Louise Page 0,53

team of six—one laundry assistant, one supervisor, who doesn’t seem to do much besides eat chips and watch TikTok, and the rest of us who clean the rooms.

Two weeks later, and I still kind of suck at this job. It’s not that I don’t clean well, it’s more I take a really long time… I just don’t care.

Standing in the middle of the narrow, two-bedroom suite, I watch Rubí Perez doing her best to get out of the poverty of her university life on Netflix. It’s in Spanish, so I miss a lot of the story when I look away from the subtitles. Still, everyone is so beautiful and earnest.

Lifting my phone, I touch the number for Dad.

“Hey, sunshine!” His voice always helps me forget my worries.

“Hey, Dad! When am I ever going to see you again? I’ve forgotten what you look like.”

Walking around the brown and gold room, I pull the thick white sheets off the mattresses. I always hated making beds. How is it possible I’ve landed a job where I do something I hate more than anything?

I should be in charge of laundry. I could sit and watch Rubí and switch loads in and out for days.

“My hair’s a little longer these days, but isn’t everybody’s?” My dad’s jovial voice is so good to hear.

“Longer?” My dad is sort of a mix of Sam Elliot and Keith Carridine, and I imagine him as Road House meets Deadwood.

Shaking away the distraction, I press on. “When can you come home?”

“Well, I don’t know,” he hedges. “I thought you were staying with Yarnell until things got back to normal.

“I am, but I miss you, Dad.” Sitting on the foot of the king-sized bed, I switch the show to Schitt’s Creek, so I don’t have to read.

“I miss you too, sunshine…”

I feel like he’s not telling me something. “How are your knees?”

“A lot better. I’ve started taking a yoga class, and you wouldn’t believe the benefits. It improves respiration, which right now is major, and it relieves anxiety…”

My eyes narrow. “Dad, you’re a Buddhist. You already beat anxiety.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far. I mean, with all the decreased social interactions. Do you know how important physical touch is to mental wellness?”

Oh, trust me. I know. I struggle with the memories of JR’s hands on my breasts, his lips between my thighs. Focus, Hope.

“So you’re able to do yoga with bad knees?”

“Well, I can’t do all the poses. I’m mostly doing it for the meditation. It’s very calming.”

“You’re always very calm.” It would be impossible for me to be more suspicious.

“Now I’m even more so. The instructor is very good…”

Bingo.

“Dad? Are you sleeping with your yoga instructor?”

I won’t lie. A week ago, I might have been weirded out by this, but after all we went through on the road, learning about JR’s dad, and finding Grandma Alice’s vibrator, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing that would surprise me now.

“Hope Hill, I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Are you?” I’m not convinced.

“Of course not. She’s probably ten years younger than me.”

“You’re only fifty-five dad. It’s okay if you are.”

“I’ve got to go. They’re ringing the bell for small group time.”

He’s trying to get rid of me. I’m pretty sure Shady Rest isn’t that worried about whether or not their temporary residents show up for group.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, daughter.”

We disconnect, and I study my phone. My mind drifts to JR. I remember waking up in the back of Metallicar, and sitting up to see the angriest, sexiest man alive driving us south to Los Angeles.

And immediately barfing out the window.

He almost crashed. Then he almost left me on the side of the road.

Walking away from the unmade bed, I step into the bathroom, where an array of expensive-looking cosmetics is spread out on the counter. They’re beautifully packaged in glass jars with sparkling accents. I pick up a jade green bottle with a pink lid, turning it in my hand. It says it’s some kind of plumping acid.

Plumping. I stick out my tongue and put it down.

We never bought cosmetics when I was a child in the commune, but one of the moms made homemade soaps and lotions to sell. She’d buy raw shea butter from the drugstore and mix it with coconut and essential oils.

She made a lotion she called Egyptian Spice that smelled like sandalwood and coconut and exotic flowers. I loved it so much, I still order it from her today.

A bright golden-yellow plastic bottle