Exotic

~ plain sight ~

My house was a fifteen minute walk from the bus stop I ended up at, but I enjoyed the opportunity to be alone. My street was utter suburbia. Quiet, eventless laneways and trimmed hedges, white picket fences, and matching modern townhouses painted the seven council-restricted colours. Occasionally, a car chugged by at forty kilometres per hour. I pet the neighbour's cat, waved to Mrs. Dodie, and enquired after her daughter (who I would be just perfect for, she lamented, if only I was Jewish), checked the mailbox and walked up the path to my front door.

Reece was sat in front of the television, watching the credits to some old western movie. I dumped my bag at the foot of the stairs and made a break for my room - hoping I could get out of earshot before he noticed I'd arrived home.

"Miles?" Reece called, reaching for the remote to mute the television. "That you?"

Who else would it be? I thought cynically, as I clenched the stair railing until my knuckles whitened. "Yeah. Got homework."

"Come here a sec."

I blew out a resigned sigh, snatched Caleb's cap off my head, and dropped it on top of my bag. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and sauntered into the living room, dropping into the sofa adjacent to Reece. It groaned under me, evidence of its age and poor quality. Reece was still dressed in his work clothes, even though he got off at two, jeans and a polo with red sleeves and a faded SuperCheap Auto logo on the breast. He worked there four days a week, on minimum wage. It wasn't because he couldn't find a better job, he had a Masters in Engineering and he'd been making a decent wage before Mum died. He was just a lazy fuck who could get away with working a shitty, part-time job while living off Mum's life insurance.

Reece had been Mum's boyfriend for the better part of a decade when she was diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer two years ago. I hadn't minded him in the slightest when Mum was still alive and keeping him in check, mostly because he was at working FIFO so he was only home one week out of three. But he also didn't act like he had to fill the role left by my absent father. He was Reece, and he made my Mum happy, and he stayed out of my business and my room and my grades.

Of course, when Mum died there was a massive palaver as to what would happen to me. My biological father had given up parental rights before I'd even been born. Apparently, he was living in Sydney with a woman half his age and a guilt-free conscience. Mum had a brother in England, but of course, I hadn't been thrilled at the notion of moving halfway around the world. In her last will and testament, she'd named Reece as my new legal guardian, but they weren't married, and Uncle Thomas had wanted me growing up with family.

I just hadn't wanted to move to a new house and school and leave my friends behind. And being the stand-up guy he was, Reece had spent months negotiating over Skype with my uncle and filing form after form and working harder than he ever had in his life - at least according to him - to ensure I could stay. And once he was my primary caregiver, he'd quit his job, and taken over my house, my sofa, and my space within all of two months. The fridge was full of his beer. The walls were full of his shitty band posters. The sofas and bathroom stank of his body odour and bad cologne. Even my bedroom wasn't off-limits to his prying eyes and hands. I thought everything was going to be all the same as it was before, minus Mum. But Greasy Reece had gotten the house, he had gotten Mum's money, and he wasn't going to stop until he had me under his thumb too. Of course, I wasn't allowed to make a word of complaint, because Reece was so generous and selfless to put his life on hold to raise a kid that wasn't even his.

I wished I could let them all in on the big secret. That Reece wasn't raising me. He was taking advantage of a free house and free cash and all the heaving praise that came with voluntarily becoming a guardian for some poor pseudo-orphan with no other hope.