crumbled under the assault from her domineering mouth.
I was there, and made the mistake of laughing.
She threatened to end my paid chores and slapped me with an extra critical evaluation of my work. I spent the next three days perfecting my mowing skills. At ten years old, I felt her critical eye was too harsh. So the following week, I mowed the shape of a middle finger outside of her office window, which Pop ordered me to fix the next day. Since then we’d shared an unspoken truce: I mowed without patterns and she left me alone. I think Janine might’ve had something to do with Simone’s side of it. Simone also skipped wearing casual clothes around Stockton Estate, and had been strutting heels every workday for the last seven years.
“What are you doing here this early, on a Sunday?” I asked.
She passed beside me with her heels clacking their annoying urgent-work beat, continuing her pace as she stepped under the stone archway attached to the front entrance. “Early wedding. The wedding planner wanted to meet with me personally after having some communication issues with Emily about flowers.” She unlocked the event house’s antique oak doors and pushed her limited weight against one. It didn’t budge.
I stiff-armed the door after she failed another attempt, jarring its old hinges. They surrendered with a protesting creak. “You’re welcome,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t bother uttering any appreciation. Her tough façade hardly ever showed cracks of humility to her employees.
She rolled her eyes and responded, “Fix it,” as she stepped inside.
The morning spilled into the entryway, waking the event house with gentle light, readying it for another day full of people traipsing on its tired foundation. The interior was restored and refinished years ago, the same time the other houses had been, long before I’d arrived. But the bare bones were still the support, enduring year after year of wedding party abuse.
I followed her up the stairs and down the hallway with the half-paneled walls. Fresh flowers stood on slim tables outside the multiple bedrooms that had been converted into dressing areas for the bride, groom, and their wedding party. Most faced the back of the property, overlooking the trellis and lily pond in the courtyard.
“What time’s the wedding?”
She turned into the last room at the front of the mansion, now the main office. “It’s at ten. This wedding planner isn’t local so it’s been a headache trying to set the ground rules with her,” she replied, flipping her satchel open on the desk and digging through papers.
“Flower problem, huh?” I teased. She acted the same during any crisis, whether wedding parties broke contractual rules, like setting a fire inside the gazebo, or an employee arrived one minute late for their shift. She was high strung, but she got the job done.
“What else is new?” She waved a hand in the air like she was swatting a bee. “This new planner really didn’t read the contract, or she’s fighting to be an exception.” She chuckled condescendingly at her last words and eyed more paperwork as she sat in her chair.
“I’ll take care of the grass tomorrow then since there really isn’t time to clean up before the wedding,” I said, standing against the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Wait, Ben.” She held her hand up as she finished reading something. Her hands shuffled the papers into a messy stack before she finally looked up. “Emily seems a little distracted lately. She almost let this planner get away with these asinine requests without consulting me first. She’s lucky she thought twice because it could have meant her job. Do you know if something is going on with her?”
It wasn’t a one-dimensional question. She was digging for more than the obvious. Simone had stayed late one night prior to my jaw fracture and caught Emily and me making out in the courtyard. It was off-duty hours so she didn’t reprimand us, even
I was there, and made the mistake of laughing.
She threatened to end my paid chores and slapped me with an extra critical evaluation of my work. I spent the next three days perfecting my mowing skills. At ten years old, I felt her critical eye was too harsh. So the following week, I mowed the shape of a middle finger outside of her office window, which Pop ordered me to fix the next day. Since then we’d shared an unspoken truce: I mowed without patterns and she left me alone. I think Janine might’ve had something to do with Simone’s side of it. Simone also skipped wearing casual clothes around Stockton Estate, and had been strutting heels every workday for the last seven years.
“What are you doing here this early, on a Sunday?” I asked.
She passed beside me with her heels clacking their annoying urgent-work beat, continuing her pace as she stepped under the stone archway attached to the front entrance. “Early wedding. The wedding planner wanted to meet with me personally after having some communication issues with Emily about flowers.” She unlocked the event house’s antique oak doors and pushed her limited weight against one. It didn’t budge.
I stiff-armed the door after she failed another attempt, jarring its old hinges. They surrendered with a protesting creak. “You’re welcome,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t bother uttering any appreciation. Her tough façade hardly ever showed cracks of humility to her employees.
She rolled her eyes and responded, “Fix it,” as she stepped inside.
The morning spilled into the entryway, waking the event house with gentle light, readying it for another day full of people traipsing on its tired foundation. The interior was restored and refinished years ago, the same time the other houses had been, long before I’d arrived. But the bare bones were still the support, enduring year after year of wedding party abuse.
I followed her up the stairs and down the hallway with the half-paneled walls. Fresh flowers stood on slim tables outside the multiple bedrooms that had been converted into dressing areas for the bride, groom, and their wedding party. Most faced the back of the property, overlooking the trellis and lily pond in the courtyard.
“What time’s the wedding?”
She turned into the last room at the front of the mansion, now the main office. “It’s at ten. This wedding planner isn’t local so it’s been a headache trying to set the ground rules with her,” she replied, flipping her satchel open on the desk and digging through papers.
“Flower problem, huh?” I teased. She acted the same during any crisis, whether wedding parties broke contractual rules, like setting a fire inside the gazebo, or an employee arrived one minute late for their shift. She was high strung, but she got the job done.
“What else is new?” She waved a hand in the air like she was swatting a bee. “This new planner really didn’t read the contract, or she’s fighting to be an exception.” She chuckled condescendingly at her last words and eyed more paperwork as she sat in her chair.
“I’ll take care of the grass tomorrow then since there really isn’t time to clean up before the wedding,” I said, standing against the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Wait, Ben.” She held her hand up as she finished reading something. Her hands shuffled the papers into a messy stack before she finally looked up. “Emily seems a little distracted lately. She almost let this planner get away with these asinine requests without consulting me first. She’s lucky she thought twice because it could have meant her job. Do you know if something is going on with her?”
It wasn’t a one-dimensional question. She was digging for more than the obvious. Simone had stayed late one night prior to my jaw fracture and caught Emily and me making out in the courtyard. It was off-duty hours so she didn’t reprimand us, even
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