When he'd turned onto the main street - toward the direction of Park Lane, she noted - she quickly climbed the stairs to her apartment. The thin walls and flimsy doors meant she was greeted by the scents of the residents supper with each floor she passed in the stairwell. Her stomach growled.

She finally leaned against her front door, grimy with age, before going inside. She needed to calm her nerves from the rollercoaster of Gus before she entered the potential maelstrom of home.

Which mother would she find today? The jovial Lola who could charm anyone, or the snarly Lola who came out when she was sinking into depression, or the reclusive person she became when she was lost in its depths?

The lack of cooking smells from her own home meant it was likely Lola would still be tucked up in bed.

After weeks of fighting off a bad cold which had developed a nasty deep cough, the only thing that had gotten Lola out of bed in three days was needing to use the bathroom. She thought of the waterproof sheet she'd invested in for Lola's bed long ago, just in case her MS acted up while Clarissa was out and Lola couldn't make it.

"Mom?" she called softly after stepping into the dark interior of the apartment. Then a little louder, "Mom?"

It only took four steps to get to the single bedroom which they shared. From long habit, she stood in the doorway to listen for her mother's breathing as evidence Lola had made it through her absence, even though the rattly sound of her mom's labouring lungs reached her even before she peered into the darkened bedroom.

Lola's slight form was curled up in the foetal position.

With a sigh of relief, Clarissa went in to make sure the blankets were tucked up tight. She picked up the empty glasses of water on the tiny table tucked between their beds and went to fill them, returning with the touch-free thermometer. The gadget had been an investment that paid for itself multiple times over just for the convenience it gave her of not having to disturb her mom while she slept.

"99.2," Clarissa whispered and smoothed back the hair on her mom's brow. She curled her lip blew out a breath that had her own bangs fluffing. At least the fever was dropping.

Her stomach's growls filled the tiny bathroom when she stowed the thermometer.

Dinner was always a simple affair and required almost no thought. It was almost always pasta and spaghetti sauce, filled out with vegetables Clarissa had grown. She felt a thrill of pride at the bags of frozen vegetables she'd stored in the freezer.

Her smile faded as she unlocked the cupboard where medicines, sharp objects, the cutlery, and breakables like the dishes were kept. What would Gus think if he saw how she lived?

Clarissa did a slow circle, taking in the aged kitchen, the tiny bathroom, and the postage-stamp living room beyond.

The dining table, just big enough for two plates, was a rickety fold up thing she'd found in someone's trash. It had a busted leg, which she'd repaired with a tree branch and the ever-dependable duct tape. The two chairs, with their hideous floral pattern in vomit green and sickly yellow, had similarly been salvaged from the trash. Both chairs had duct tape keeping bits of the foam seat padding from poking through tears in the corners. A strip of duct tape spanned one seat, sealing a long cut. Over the grimy window that looked out onto the apartment building next door was a yellowed lace curtain. Stained linoleum that was probably new in the '60s spanned both the kitchen and the living room beyond.

Hidden underneath a brightly coloured sheet was the sagging couch with uncomfortable springs that had come with the apartment. Long ago Clarissa had draped the sheet over it to try and cheer the place up. The fake velour was rubbed away over most of the arms. An old sheet with giant orange flowers hung as window dressing over the single large living room window.

Her plants faced the couch and took up half the living room. The wide assortment of pots stood on shelving she'd constructed from salvaged pieces of lumber and whatever she could stack in between to act as spacers; some shelves had cement blocks, others stacks of wood or even books. Her tomato vines were tethered to a variety of sticks inserted into each pot.

She didn't need to open the bathroom door to see the tiled bathroom that looked grimy no matter what she cleaned it with. It always smelled faintly of bleach from her never ending struggle against mold. The bathroom fan did little more than rain down dust. For the thousandth time she thought, Bathrooms should always have a window.

The inside of Gus' car had been immaculate. It smelled of car polish and some other cleaning products she couldn't place - probably something to treat the leather seats. There wasn't a crumb in the console, and when he'd flipped open the glove compartment to get his phone charger, she'd seen that it too was ordered and neat. His house was probably immaculate and new-looking too - and probably full of expensive furniture and a big TV.

Owning a TV was far beyond their means. The only TV she'd ever watched had been during the few sleepovers she attended as a child.

She leaned against the counter, the heavy cupboard lock forgotten in one hand, as she pictured Gus in her mind. He was as immaculately groomed as his car. His wavy brown hair fell perfectly into place by nature it seemed. She'd seen him run his hands through it often enough to know it didn't have any product in it; people who put product into their hair usually didn't touch it much anyway. His clothes were always clean, but nothing special. Just regular T-shirts and jeans. Her skin flushed to think of how the soft materials hugged his body, showing off his muscular chest and back, and his long, well-muscled legs. She clenched her hands involuntarily at the thought of cupping his behind. Her eyes closed as she remembered the feel of him as he leaned around her at the coffee machine. His cologne was something masculine and inviting.

"Argh!" Clarissa shook herself as she felt heat begin to rise in her cheeks. "I've got to stop thinking about that man! He's just - just - just out of my reach!" But is he? her mind threw back.

She couldn't deny that he'd been flirting with her tonight. They'd had a great conversation during the stamping project. And he offered to drive her home. Absently she touched her elbow where he had before going to get his coat. Some of the touches could have been accidental, but that last one when he told her to wait certainly wasn't.

"Snap out of it, Lari!" She just caught herself before angrily slapping the heavy lock down on the counter – it might wake up Lola. "You're from here, and he's from.... somewhere else."

Pulling out the elastic that bound her hair, she shook the long brown tresses free. She finger-combed it. Her stomach tightened at the image of Gus being the one running his fingers through her hair.

"Ugh! Get a grip, Clary!" she chastised herself and threw the elastic on the counter to free her hands to stir the pasta.

Watching the vortex of noodles turn in the water, her mind drifted back to the stamping project. He'd made her feel so relaxed while they'd bantered, and he did seem genuinely interested in her. Maxine even said so. He didn't seem phased at all by where she lived when she told him her address or when he dropped her off. What if that didn't matter to him?

Shaking her head to free herself of that line of thinking, Clarissa muttered to the empty kitchen, "Well, he knows where I live now, so at least that's out of the way. If anything is meant to...argh, but I doubt it!"

Having eaten a supper she was too distracted to taste, she tiptoed back into the bedroom and changed into her pyjamas. Opening the closet for a sweater, she looked at the paltry selection of clothes there.

Her heart shrank.

What would she wear to the Christmas party? Gus or no Gus, there was nothing suitable here.

Lola had a few dresses that she hadn't worn in almost twenty years, and Clarissa had only one pair of black slacks and a white blouse that she kept for formal events. She fingered one of Lola's old cotton sundresses then gently closed the closet door and sloped back to the kitchen.

She retrieved the accordion file that held all of their receipts and the envelopes Clarissa used to separate out the cash she got paid from her many under-the-table jobs from behind the cereal box.

Fingering through the sections, she automatically read the headings, which mostly comprised of different medicines or supplies her mom needed.

Her mom's medical bills ate up their money, but Clarissa'd managed to put aside a dollar here and there in preparation for buying a college graduation dress. It was a small hoard, but sufficient to buy a new dress. She just wanted to have a one no one but her had worn for once to celebrate her years of hard work and her officially passing into adulthood.

With resignation she admitted she could afford two if she bought them second-hand. Her one pair of nice shoes, a pair of black ballerina type slip-ons, should match almost anything.

She'd need Maxine's help dress shopping tomorrow. She glanced at the clock. Maxine would be awake if she called, but it meant walking the two blocks to the coffee shop to use the pay phone.

She shook her head. It was better to wait and call Maxine in the morning. The risk of venturing down the street at night in this neighbourhood was far worse than missing out on a shopping partner.

She hated being poor.