Hate Thy Neighbor - S.M. Soto Page 0,2

stone.

To get a jump-start, I work on sponge cleaning the walls in the master bedroom and then work my way through the rest of the house, scrubbing every surface. I rub my palm along the plain eggshell walls, already plotting color schemes and where frames and knickknacks will go. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, as I envision what the final product will look like.

It’s going to be perfect.

It’s going to be mine.

When I’m finished cleaning about halfway through the house, I glance up, brushing the hair out of my face, managing to smear the sweat across my forehead in the process. It’s well into the night now. I hadn’t even realized when the sun went down. With no blinds covering my bedroom window, I have a full view of my neighbor’s house. There’s little space between the houses. Whoever built them obviously didn’t think either of us deserved much room. Our houses must mirror each other because everything aligns, including our master bedroom windows. There is literally no privacy with the way these identical houses have been built. A light from somewhere inside the home next door flicks on, indicating that the family is probably home by now. Another light shines from the pane next to the bedroom window, and when I shift toward my bathroom, flipping on that light, I realize I’m right. These homes really are mirrors of each other.

After taking a beat to catch my breath, I get back to work, only I find myself glancing over my shoulder at the house next door a few times throughout the rest of the night.

My parents show up bright and early the next morning to help. With more cleaning supplies than one would use to sterilize a hospital, my mom is ready to roll with a cupholder filled with Starbucks drinks and a bag of takeout breakfast burritos.

For hours, we work, tirelessly, scrubbing the walls, floors, and the windows. My dad and my younger brother, Brandon, manage to bring the heavy furniture from the rental into the house. Everyone is patient, while we move the furniture around, until I find the perfect place for it. It takes about three tries each. We move the L-shaped couch from one corner to the next and do the same with the coffee table, the dinner table, and the bookshelf. The master bedroom is a whole other story.

The fact that no one has wrung my neck yet is a miracle.

“The floorboards are lifting,” my dad grumbles in dismay, toeing said boards. If he had the time, I’m sure he’d redo them all for me, here and now. That is my father; he’s a jack-of-all-trades. The tips of his brown hair hang over his forehead, lightly shielding his eyes. It’s the same color as my hair. A deep brown with hints of honey.

Grinning, I lift a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I know. I have some wood flooring in mind that I’d like to try out. Well, after I paint.”

Both of my parents raise their brows in surprise. “You’re going to paint and do the floors?”

Brandon peals over with laughter from his position on the couch, his shoes resting on my coffee table, infuriating me to no end. My little brother is a senior in high school back in Long Beach. He’s a football star and completely annoying. My parents baby him far too much. Since he’s the youngest and the only one still at home, they wait on the little shit hand and foot. I shoot him a glare, snapping my fingers and narrowing my eyes on his shoes and his sweaty ass that’s perched on my couch.

“Feet off,” I scold, then turn back toward my parents, my brows taking a nosedive. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s a fixer-upper. My first official house—I want to make it mine.”

“Baby girl, you don’t even know how to change a tire.”

Brandon cackles some more at my expense, and I shoot him another scowl over my shoulder.

My nose crinkles. “What does that have to do with anything? That’s what insurance is for and all that other stuff.” I wave my hand dismissively in the air.

They raise their brows, waiting for me to see their point, and I do. I mean, I totally get it. My parents did everything for me during high school and in college, then when I met my ex, I didn’t have to worry about doing any of that stuff because he took care of it for me. When I had a