Suburban Mermaid Ch 3

For the better part of that first day, Celia read books in the store as I worked.  My manager asked where she had come from, and I made up a story that she was my cousin visiting from Colorado.  Naturally, I didn’t have a story for why she had no clothes that fit.  
That evening, we went to Goodwill and found her five outfits, which included blue jeans, shoes, shirts, and two skirts.  I parked at the Eagle Canyon Campground, located west of the beach - a frequent parking space for me.  It was there where we first discovered that she could never take a proper shower.
“Blake?”
“Yes?”  I was on the other side of the campground bathroom brushing my teeth when she called.
“Could you come in here?”
“Just a moment.”  I spit out the toothpaste and exited the men’s side, going up to the women’s door.  “Anyone else in there?”
“No, it’s just me.”
I entered, latching the door behind.  “What’s wrong?”
“Over here.”
Following her voice again, I found her in the third shower stall back.  She was sitting on the floor of the shower, completely nude and spread out with her fins beneath her as the shower rained down from above.  I quickly covered my eyes - sure, I might've wanted to look, but I knew what my mother would say if I did.
“Where are your seashells?”
“With my other clothes.  How else am I going to get clean?”
“Never mind, never mind.”  I turned away.  “I guess it was silly to think that you could take a shower like anyone else.”
“You told me I should take a shower, so I took a shower.  Am I doing it right?”
I leaned against the tiled wall.  “Celia, I don’t think you’re ever going to be able to do it right, especially if your tail returns when you get wet.”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
I sighed.  “Modesty.  Humans seem to be more modest than mermaids.”
“We wear seashells.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I guess I have a lot to learn.”
“Celia, don’t change for anyone, okay?  Listen, I have classes tomorrow.  I’ll try to ask around campus to see if anyone knows about your father.”
“Okay.”  She looked up at me.  “Can I come with?“
“Sure.“
She smiled.  “What about my shower?”
“Guess you may as well get clean as best you can.  Can you reach the soap?”
“Yes.”
“And be sure to wash your hair with that shampoo I gave you.”
“Can you guard the room for me?  I don’t want anyone to find me in here.”
“I’ll stay.”

For the duration of her shower, nobody bothered us.  I slept in the front seat while Celia slept in the back.  She stayed awake reading my schoolbooks late into the night.  At least it made my job easier, knowing that she could read.  My dictionary had been pristine when I left Colorado two years earlier.  Today, the cover is warped and the pages are worn.  Celia wore that book out.  It wouldn't be the last.

By day three of our relationship, Celia's wounds improved.  Though her wounds had been fairly deep, she avoided any infection and continued to heal.  I changed her bandages daily, having since thrown away the remnants of my beloved flannel shirt.  
At that time, my schedule was to work four days a week while going to class three of those days.  The remaining free days I would spend in my car doing homework.  Sundays were hot food days, spent at a rotating list of restaurants.  It was my one luxury.  All in all, I probably earned $300 a week but only spent $100 on essentials, not to mention gas for the car.
Anyway, while I was in class Celia populated the library.  I couldn't believe how curious she was.  For that matter, I admired her for sticking around.  Maybe it was a fear of sharks.  At any rate, for her to come ashore and all but live with me was, well, beyond odd.  And not because of the whole mermaid thing.  Here I had this woman, living with me in my car, and not complaining about the conditions at all.  I had lived on cold cereal, granola, beef jerky, dried fruit, peanut butter and bread.  For water I packed a case of Daisani which, given the twenty four bottles, lasted about ten days.  A large bottle of hand sanitizer kept away the bad bacteria, and Scotts tissue took care of buisness.  
She was a real trooper about that, I might add.  As the campsite cost only $8 a night per site - nobody ever seemed to check the box, though I did occasionally see someone maintain the bathroom -  Celia put up with the way I was living really well.  When I asked her why she stayed with me, she just smiled.  
For the record, I wasn't always far from a bathroom, but I can tell that fact is much more detail than you want to know.  I also paid the campsite box whenever I could.
Back to Celia.  It was her that got us a place to live.

Almost a week after we met in the cave, Sunday arrived and it was hot food day.  Today I would figure out if she knew how to track down her father.
I found a cafe down the road from the bookstore.  Basically a greasy spoon, the food was good and the waitress, Ambrielle, was cute.  I had seen her around campus, taking classes for a buisness degree.  She had long, silky amber hair and deep blue eyes.  Although the cafe seemed to sell more coffee than omlettes, I was happy to have warm food of any kind.  Like always, they were happy to sell to me.
"Table for one," Ambrielle said as Celia and I sat down.  "Wait a minute."
"Hi Ambrielle.  This is Celia."
"Hello."  She handed us each a menu.  "Hot tea, Blake?"
"Sure."  I slapped down the menu without opening it.  "Can I have a Denver omlette with a pair of pancakes and hashbrowns?"
"You sure can."  Ambrielle wrote the order on her pad, using a pencil that had been tucked alongside two blue hair sticks.  "What can I get you, honey?"
"Honey?" Celia asked, confused.
"She's just being polite," I said.  "Order anything you want."
"Um... what is kielbasa?" Celia asked.
Ambrielle leaned onto the counter, a flatnose expression.  "Sausage."
"Like, from a sausage?"
"A pig, hon."
Celia smiled colloquially.  "What are... steak and eggs?"
"Steak is a cut of meat from a cow."  Ambrielle looked at me curiously.  "Is she for real?"
"Of course I'm for real," Celia replied.  "Do you have cold cereal?"
Ambrielle scoffed.  "Cold cereal?"
"Celia," I interjected.  "Try the pancakes."
With a nod, Celia put down the menu.  "Okay, pancakes."
"Short or tall stack?" Ambrielle asked.
"Two pancakes."
"Short stack."  She added it to the order pad.  "Anything on the pancakes?"
"Fruit?"
Ambrielle sighed.  "Strawberries, blueberries, peaches, blackberries or bacon?"
"The first one."
"Whipped cream?"
Celia looked at me for a moment, but nodded before I could answer.
"Anything else?" Ambrielle asked.
"Hashbrowns," Celia said without skipping a beat.
"You got it, hon."  Ambrielle made the note and then tore it off, putting the slip in the window for the kitchen.  "Order up!"  She then went to attend to other customers.
"Pushy," Celia said softly.  She picked up one of the jelly containers to examine it.  

I should talk a little about Ambrielle, for Celia's story seems to involve her too.  Ambrielle, just like Celia, loved to let her hair grow long.  Because she worked as a waitress, though, she often had to work around water, hot food, angry customers and mop buckets.  Thus, she held her hair into a bun with the hair sticks.  This kept her hair to her shoulders, but her hair bun rivaled the cinnamon buns they sold only on Sundays.  
Yes, I eventually ordered one of 'em to split with Celia.  Stop reading ahead.
Ambrielle had been in school for three years, hoping to buy the buisness from Mac, the owner, when he planned to retire soon.  She stood about 5'4", had fair skin, and aside from having a bit of a clumsy streak was a lovely woman.  Her usual attire ranged between yoga pants and skirts, and today it was a skirt.  I pegged her to be about 20 years old, but I'll tell you, she has a bit of a competitive streak too - if I said she was twenty, she would brag she was twenty and a half.  That way, she'd be a lap ahead in the human race.
Her words, not mine.

"Tell me about Ambrielle," Celia asked.
"See those pictures over there?"  I pointed to a collection of framed photos along the north wall of the restaurant.  "Ambrielle is a competitive runner.  She wants to be in the next olympics."
"The olympics?"
"It's a worldwide contest for athletes."
Celia nodded.  "I'll have to read about it at the library.  Do you have class tomorrow?"
"Yes."  
"Blake, can I talk to you?" Ambrielle came back from the far side of the restaurant.  "In private?"
I might have hesitated.  Talking to Ambrielle in a more private setting would have been a dream a week ago, before I met Celia.  "What for?"
"Just come here a moment."  She started off towards the back room.
Celia narrowed her eyes.  "What's this all about?  Did I do something wrong again?"
I shook my head.  "Give me a moment."

Following Ambrielle into the dishwasher area, I stayed within the door jamb so I could keep an eye on Celia.  "What's going on?"
"Where'd you find the air head?"
I frowned.  "What's that supposed to mean?"
"She doesn't know about beef, she doesn't know about the Olympics?  I feel like I should challenge her to a race now."
"Ambrielle, you just met her.  I've only known you myself maybe a few months."
"Yes, but I'm a good judge of character.  She doesn't have any.  Which reef did you find her in?"
"Reef?"  I smiled, hoping to laugh away her odd sense of humor.  "I found her in the library at school."
Ambrielle nodded.  "She needs to be schooled."
"Nice customer relations," I muttered before shaking my head and returning to my spot at the counter.
"What was that about?" Celia asked me as I sat.
"She liked your hairstyle," I lied.
Celia drew aback.  "She wanted to tell you, over there, that she liked my hairstyle?"
I shrugged it away.  
"Blake, really."
Hopefully my silence would be enough.  It wasn't.  When Ambrielle delivered our tea, Celia confronted her.
"Did you say I need to be schooled?"
"Yeah, honey.  Schooled."  Ambrielle narrowed her eyes and leaned in.  
I swear she even pushed her chest forward.
Celia stood up.  "What did you have in mind, honey?"
Ambrielle smiled.  "Always with the questions.  Everything's an open book to you, isn't it?  Put your pride where your feet are, honey.  I challenge you to a race around the back garden.  You win, and I'll pay for your tab."
"And if you win?"
"There's a whole pile of dirty dishes in there that have your name on them."
"Deal."
I couldn't believe my ears.  Was this happening?
"Hang on, hang on.  Ambrielle, she's really-"
"This is between us girls, Blake."  Ambrielle glanced into the kitchen.  "Mac, I've got a customer to relate with.  You got the front?"
"Okay, Amber."  
I swear Mac was hard of hearing.  He never seemed to call Ambrielle by her full name.
"Follow me."  Ambrielle headed outside, and Celia followed.  I did too - just in case things got out of hand.