It Should Have Been Like This

I scrubbed the top of the table as I hummed, scrubbing it hard to get the stains out. Some people can eat like pigs, horrible pigs. And unfortunately, it was my job to clean up after them. Okay, not exactly my job, but the person doing it before got sick so I volunteered to clean it and take her salary until she is back on her feet. I accepted the offer with open arms. The extra cash was good.

I worked in a hotel as a bartender. I used to be a hotel porter, but after I complained about the male guest always finding a way to smack my ass, I was placed in the bar. The manager liked me and didn't want me to go and that is the most luck I had since I changed my name.

"Jamila, are you still here?" Speak of the devil. I gave the table the last finishing scrub before I stood up and placed my hands on my hips. The table was spotless.

"People can eat like pigs, no, in fact, people are pigs." I sneered. He laughed from behind me before I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Jami, the real problem is you, not the table," I turned the sneer toward him. "You are a clean freak,"

"No, I'm not,"

"Have you cleaned that table yet?" He asked, pointing at the last table, the one I hadn't cleaned.

"No, but I'm about to. I'll just—" He pulled me back before I took a step which surprised me. I looked at him over my shoulder. "What gives?"

"Jamie, that table is clean enough, leave it alone. I don't see what's wrong with it," I rolled my eyes. He knew I would never listen. You know, when I first applied to work in the hotel, I was made a cleaner. He promoted me because he got too many complaints from the customers. Apparently, I chased them out of their rooms and nagged about how dirty they were.

I did not.

"Just let me clean it,"

"What am I going to do with you, Jamila? Especially now that I'll be going on vacation? My replacement will blow a fuse with you," he said with a chuckle. I pouted because it was true. Mr. Miller was a good man. He had been working as a manager for years and he did a great job. He barely took vacations or did anything with his family until I came along and convinced him to remember his family. He still never went on vacation but he gave his family more time and finally, he was going on vacation for his marriage anniversary.

"I'm not doing anything bad,"

"Jamie, don't you have kids to return home to?" The only thing he knew that could stop me. I gasped and slipped away from him immediately. They'll be waiting for me. They didn't have a babysitter, I couldn't afford one but fortunately, I could leave them with my neighbor who loved children. Recently, however, since her daughter gave birth, she moved over to her daughter's place so my kids were alone. Well, not that it was a problem.

"Gotta go. Bye, Mr. Miller!" I screamed, already running away.

"Say hi to the boys for me," he shouted back. Always the boys, never the girls. Well, one of the girls didn't like him to begin with.

I took a cab home but made sure I got bribery ice cream and pizza for the kids. I stared out of the window with a smile, enjoying the view of the beautiful city of Las Vegas. Since my savior helped me move here after erasing my existence as requested, I have lived in Las Vegas with my children. I could never stop being grateful to that man, even if he ended up forgetting I existed. At least, he helped me find a home and gave me money to begin my life. Lavender was dead. I went by my middle name and mother's maiden name and since everyone who cared to check on me thought I committed suicide, they didn't bother searching and I liked it that way. I didn't want my past coming for me or my children.

Especially him.

The car dropped me at my apartment, the block of flats I live in with my kids. The building was poor, very poorly built, and not a good place to raise kids, but it was better than being homeless. I had too much to deal with, especially with five extra mouths to feed. Okay, six extra mouths to feed and outstanding debts.

I made my way into the building with my bags, swinging my house key in my finger as I whistled. I lived on the second floor so it wasn't that difficult to climb up the stairs. The elevator of the gray building no longer worked. It was better if it didn't work before it killed someone or some people like my stubborn daredevil children.

I took in a deep breath and straightened my smile. Seeing them always made me sad because I knew this wasn't the life they ought to live. They should be living in a mansion with people at their beck and call, toys that they won't be able to play with, proper medication, feeding, and clothes. They ought to be going to a good school, not sitting at home and waiting for me to get enough money to send them back to school. Their father was a billionaire or even more, but they were stuck in poverty with me. We ate from hand to mouth, scavenging for toys in dumpsters, wearing unsuitable clothes, and battling with poor health and debts. Because of my lack of money and procrastination, their lives were being endangered. And it hurt that they were content with what they had and living with me like that.

And the most painful part was how much they looked like their father.

I opened the door to see the second youngest standing behind the door with her winter gray eyes fixed on the door and hugging her big, patched plushie as she would always do. Since she turned three, she learned to stand behind the door with her plushie and wait for me. She barely blinked, and would never move out of the way until she saw me.

I almost died from shock and cried my eyes out for nights after I gave birth to them. I thought I was having twins, I didn't plan for quintuplets. It took me by surprise. I couldn't afford to care for five children on my own and I almost gave in to adoption, to selling them off, but I couldn't, I couldn't bear to do it. When I remembered the hours I spent bringing them into the world, the months I spent tolerating the pains and complications that came with carrying five babies, the sleepless nights I had, and the money I spent, I couldn't give them out.

So there I was, parenting them myself.

"Serene, I've told you to stop waiting at the door like a dog for me," I chuckled, looking down at her. Serenity was a sweetheart and the fourth of the quintuplets. Her personality was like the walking embodiment of a saint. She was kind to a fault and so polite it was hard for me to decide if it was a bad or a good thing. I constantly worry about her kindness, and her small, frail body and innocent face made it even harder to talk to her about her excessive kindness.

"But if I don't wait, who will?" She asked, bouncing on her feet so I could carry her. I could see that her cinnamon brown hair had been braided again, but from the poor work, I knew one of her brothers did it.

"Mother!" The third of the quint shouted. "Guys, Mom's back!" The volume of his voice woke up the youngest who had slept off on the couch. Zayne, the youngest, rubbed his eyes tiredly and yawned. When he opened his eyes, it was wet with tears and for a second, I thought he cried himself to sleep.

"Zayne, honey, I'm back. Did you cry? Did Zyaire bully you?"

"I did not!" Zyaire, the third of the quins shouted in his defense. Of course I knew he didn't do anything. Only the two eldest loved bickering, the rest didn't. Zyaire was too easygoing and playful to bully anyone, and plus, his life mission was playing games, superhero, or pretending to be a sculptor, (he was terrible at it).

"My eyes just feel itchy, Mom, I'm fine," Zayne said, still yawning. My adorable youngest wasn't as sweet as Serenity but his shyness and kindness, coupled with his face made him an angel. He wasn't much of a talker and he would never be pleased if anyone got hurt for his sake. Just like Serenity, he had my cinnamon brown hair and winter gray eyes. I would say he was the cutest among my children.

"Alright, I bought pizza!" I announced cheerfully. His eyes brightened immediately, making me laugh. He is a sucker for food and a good sleep.

Zyaire was the first to grab it and ran over to Zayne. That kid was just too energetic and well, like so, like so. He was the only one among the boys with my green eyes, but that also didn't mean he looked anything like me. None of them did, which was the most painful part. The eldest was generous enough to inherit my green eyes, skin tone and hair, but that was it. Appearance-wise, she was still her father's mini doppelganger.

"Welcome home, Mom," speak of the devil. Savia strolled into the living room drying her hands with a towel. She was coming from the kitchen and wearing a cute little apron. Heat built up in my chest like it usually did whenever I saw her in her apron. The little darling learned how to cook when she was three. She loved cooking and acting like a mother, (she calls it bossing my younger ones around). Savia was a snarky, sassy kid, and I always felt like I wasn't giving her enough room to reach her potential.

"Hello, boss lady,"

She frowned. "I'm not a bossy person, Mom," she denied as usual. Then she looks at Zyaire who was teasing Zayne by holding the pizza box away. "Zyaire, drop that box before I shove your little weeny into your nose!" She barked, making Zyaire flinch and immediately drop the box. She looked back at me and smiled sweetly. "What were we talking about again?" Yup, boss lady.