by Kate Rorick
“All right, George, Sybil, why don’t you start this time? Tell Quinn a little bit about yourselves.”
“Okeydokey,” George said, projecting a goofy charm. “We’re the Hendersons. We are moving from our apartment in the city to our first new house and we are looking for—”
“We’re looking for perfection,” Sybil interrupted. “Somebody smart, coolheaded, and able to deliver perfection. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Quinn said, cracking a smile.
“Yes,” Sybil replied, her chin going up.
“Okay,” the producer interrupted. “Quinn, your turn. Why don’t you tell us a little bit about you.”
“Happy to. I am a designer who loves an updated traditional esthetic. I worked for a major firm for over a decade, taking on a variety of projects, learning and loving every minute of it. And I’m a mother to a three-year-old, so everything you’re doing right now, I’ve been through.”
“That’s good to know,” George replied. “You can give us pointers.”
“Oh, I have no doubt there are a ton of people in your life giving you pointers. And a ton of people just randomly on the street throwing advice at you.”
George threw his head back, laughing deep. But Sybil remained straight-faced.
“Is that all?” Sybil asked. “Is that the only thing we should know about you?”
Quinn met Sybil’s gaze. Her stomach dropped. And she finally, finally understood.
“You recognize me, don’t you?”
Sybil’s chin went up higher, accompanied by an affirmative eyebrow.
“Recognize you?” said the producer, who Quinn had sort of forgotten was in the room. “From what?”
Quinn sighed. She felt the weight of the silence, of everyone’s stares. She could laugh it off, try and deny it. But no. This was happening, and she had to face it.
“Last fall, I was the inadvertent star of a viral video. I’d had a very long and stressful day, and lost my temper with my son, and destroyed his Halloween costume. Someone was recording.”
She saw the producer mouth the words “Halloween Mom” and then start typing furiously on her phone.
Quinn turned back to the couple. George, who was blinking in surprise, and Sybil whose pink cheeks were the only sign that she had any emotional reaction to, well, anything.
“When you walked in here, I . . . I actually saw a version of myself a few years ago.”
“I . . . I do not think we’re alike,” Sybil said, almost laughing.
Quinn leaned in, forced Sybil to hold her gaze. “I hope we’re not. I hope that you never lose it with your child, and certainly never have it broadcast across the internet. I don’t mean to alarm you. But it wasn’t that long ago that I was embarking on some of the same massive changes you’re facing. First new house. First new baby. And you think that you can maintain control. That you have to. Just as long as everything is perfect.”
Sybil held her stare, but gave the smallest most imperceptible nod.
“For how long?”
“I’m sorry?” Sybil replied.
“For how long do you want it to stay perfect?” Quinn asked. “An hour? A day? How long can you hold your breath?”
Sybil blinked, unable to come up with an answer.
“One thing I’ve learned over the past three years as a parent—and especially over the past six months as a person—is that perfect is static,” Quinn said. “It’s an Instagram photo. You can’t live in it—and if you try, you’ll suffocate because there’s no air in a vacuum.
“You want a nursery that is going to help your life work—and match how beautiful that life is going to be. That’s what I can do. I can give you something that will grow with your child, that will be easy to clean, that will help you endure the days as much as enjoy them.
“But if you want perfect, and someone else promised it to you—then you should choose them. I am a very good designer. I’m also a mother, I’m a friend, I’m a wife, and I am very publicly not perfect. If that is going to be a problem for you, I completely understand, and I will be on my way.”
When neither of the Hendersons moved, Quinn slowly rose to her feet. “Thank you for the opportunity,” she said, and was about to maneuver herself back past the cameras and lights to the exit when Sybil reached out and caught her arm.
“I’m curious . . . about what you mean by a room that will help make our lives work,” Sybil said. “Can we see your designs?”
“Absolutely,” she said, sitting back down and flipping open her portfolio. Her heart was singing. “These are obviously just first ideas, impressions. I will go over every detail with you, and explain anything you need. I want to know about what textures and materials you like and dislike, we are going to talk about blackout curtains and modular lighting, and the world’s best invention that I have long wished I’d done in my own nursery, washable wallpaper.”
* * *
She practically floated on the drive home. Not even horrendous traffic bothered her. They didn’t announce anything, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she had won. The prize? Designing the nursery, of course. And she was champing at the bit to get to it.
While they hadn’t given her the job, the producer pulled her aside after, and told her to keep the week of April the sixth available. She nearly laughed when she heard that—it was also the week of the Family Fun Fest. But if anyone was going to be happy for her, it was Daisy.
She could only hope that Stuart would be happy for her, too.
Her mood came down from the clouds as she thought about the second part of the conversation she and Stuart needed to have. But after laying it all out there with Sybil and George (they were totally on a first-name basis now), Quinn felt like, surely, she was on such a roll that she could lay it all out there with Stuart, too.
She had done it—she had accomplished all her March tasks. She had helped Daisy. She had auditioned for the show. And she had finally managed to really work on her marriage.
Man, she was killing today. It was like the day Dolly Parton wrote both “Jolene” and “I Will Always Love You.” But, you know, more important.
“Stuart!” she called out when she walked through the door. “Hey, hon!”
“Ms. Quinn!” Gina said, as she popped her head out from the kitchen. “Good meeting?”
“Very.” She smiled. “Stuart in the basement again? Is the water heater still acting up?”
“He’s gone into the hospital, Ms. Quinn,” Gina said, apologetically.
“What?” Quinn’s face fell. “But he had today off.”
“Apparently they called him with an emergency.”
Quinn must have looked crestfallen, because Gina came toward her. “Come, Ms. Quinn—you’ve had a lovely week together. He had to go and save someone’s life! And he left you a note, here.”
He had to go and save someone’s life. It was the excuse to end all excuses. Something that couldn’t be argued with. Everyone accepted it—even Gina! Even Hamilton. Because he didn’t even miss his dad when he was gone.
She was so, so tired of accepting it.
Quinn picked up the note, written on Stuart’s personalized letterhead.
Had to go to the hospital. I’m sorry. We’ll talk when I get home.
She crumpled the note in her hand.
Well . . . Quinn guessed she finally had one of those answers she’d been waiting for.
Why did Stuart think he could just leave her like that?
Answer: because he did it all the time.
Little Wonders Preschool April Newsletter
Hello, WONDER-ful Parents!
Spring has finally sprung yes we breached 50 degrees break out those speedos and with it, the advent of our biggest event of the year, the Family Fun Fest! We are expecting quite the crowd on Friday, April 9th, so make sure you come early before we run out of raffle tickets. We have unlimited raffle tickets. Come early if you want to be saddled with extra work and the chance for a decent parking spot. The children
are very excited, and have been working on their hallway displays Glitter. Glitter everywhere to show off their creativity and Little Wonders to everyone!
There are lots of new and awesome things that were added at the very last minute in this year’s festival. We are very excited to announce that not only will we have three bouncy houses, we will be having a petting zoo, courtesy of Needleton Farms. Goats, horses, and other farm animals will be destroying gracing our lawns. Don’t worry, they won’t get in the way of the train route! And a schedule of the cultural musical performances is attached!
And—this year, we have reached epic heights with the silent auction! The ever popular restaurant vouchers are back, as is the weekend at a beach house on the Cape! The weekend is in November and the house is termite-infested, but have at it, folks. However, there were also some very specialized items donated—so the Parent Board has decided to open up select items to be auctioned online. Check out the link below if you want a sneak peek of the Little Wonders special online auction! I have no idea what any of this crap is but I’m told it’s cool.
Also, for those parents asking, TERRY yes, the chickens have moved back into their outside coop! Your little ones are already eagerly observing the new chicks we have brought into the flock, and picking out names! try getting them to eat chicken nuggets after this. Just try.
The Parent Association cannot pull off this event without every single volunteer, so your help is greatly appreciated. Don’t show up late or else you don’t get your hours counted. Don’t test me. We cannot wait to see everyone on the afternoon of April 9th!
Together in Parenting!
Suzy Breakman-Kang
Parent Association Secretary
Chapter Twenty
When Daisy McGulch Stone looked back over her life, she should have known that the inflection point, the moment her life would be divided into before and after, would happen at the Little Wonders Preschool Family Fun Fest (and Silent Auction).
Not that any one thing went wrong at the Family Fun Fest itself. Because, in fact, everything went wrong.
Not through any fault of Daisy’s, of course! After her pep talk from the human starter pistol known as Quinn Barrett, she dived into the madness of making the Family Fun Fest the funnest damn fest in the history of Needleton—nay, in the history of Massachusetts!
She’d wrangled down prices on bouncy houses. She’d drawn up the schedule of musical events. She’d double- and triple-checked the audio equipment they had in the Parent Association closet for the musical acts, and borrowed Robbie’s old amp as a backup. She’d reinstituted the goldfish toss, animal cruelty complaints be damned, because according to last year’s financial breakdowns, it made bank for the school. She’d arranged for the food trucks. She’d gotten permits from the Needleton town hall, and she’d reported everything back to Shanna, who reclined on the couch when she and Daisy met. Every freakin’ night.
“Thank you so much for taking all this on,” Shanna always said. “I would never have been able to do this without you—I swear, if this baby’s a girl, I’m naming her after you.” Then, she would look over the day’s spreadsheets and say something like, “Martino’s Bakery is where we are getting the cakes for the Cake Walk? Not Bedford Farm and Cafe? Oh my.”
But not even Shanna’s nitpicking could stop the train of Daisy’s production skills coming to the fore. She analyzed, she brainstormed, she went over the breakdowns with a fine-tooth comb, looking for ways to maximize their budget, their profit, and the kids’ fun.
Damn, she was on fire. When she wasn’t dying of sleep deprivation, that is.
And the most important thing Daisy had done was to follow Quinn’s command and delegate. She sent emails to various parents who were low on their volunteer hours for the year, saying they could burn them off by soliciting donations for the silent auction and raffle baskets.
And they delivered. In spades.
Suzy Breakman-Kang was absolutely livid when she learned about this—Suzy, being the warden of all things volunteer hours. She had placed herself in that role when Shanna had taken over from Quinn, and she had relished the authority it gave her.
“You can’t just give away volunteer hours!” she practically screeched. “That’s my job!”
“For everything not related to the Family Fun Fest, yes,” Daisy had said. Okay, maybe it wasn’t Daisy. Maybe she was channeling Cosplay Daisy, the way she did on the phone. But it turned out that Cosplay Daisy very much enjoyed flaunting her authority. “But you all officially appointed me deputy to deal with the Family Fun Fest. And to complete that task, I’ll dole out volunteer hours as I see fit.”
Suzy was left with her mouth hanging open, no doubt composing the world’s meanest newsletter in her head.
But as the items that the volunteers managed to procure came in—and began to overwhelm—Daisy might have had her most genius moment yet.
“Quinn, why did you never do an online auction?” she said over coffee, as she stared at the spreadsheet in front of her. They were at the café on Main Street, taking up Quinn’s favorite table by the window, getting dirty looks shot their way by computer-lugging caffeine addicts coveting their good table with outlet access. Ostensibly they were here to do anything but work, but Quinn had so artfully dodged any questions about her reunification with Stuart that they had no choice but to work.
On top of the pile of papers was a list of all the items that had been collected for the silent auction. It included but was not limited to Red Sox tickets, passes to goat yoga, breakfast with the Needleton firefighters, a signed headshot of an Affleck brother, and a new-in-box pair of size seven Christian Louboutin ankle boots.
“We looked into it,” Quinn replied. “But ultimately decided that we didn’t have the kind of items that would do any better online than in person, so the effort wasn’t worth it.”
“Well, we have some items this year that would be worth it,” Daisy said. The Louboutins were made for eBay (curse her size nine feet, else they’d be hers!). As was the Affleck headshot, and . . . maybe the goat yoga? But that wasn’t enough to justify making a separate online auction. And she knew, without a doubt, that she could sell stuff online. She had plenty of retail experience, and hadn’t she made ends meet in between production jobs with some judicious selling of her geek stockpile? She just needed more product . . .
She contemplated it as they left their coveted table (it was quickly scooped up by laptop junkies).
And started to make their way up the street. But then, she stopped in her tracks, right in front of the empty storefront that used to be the Knick Knack Nook.
“What?” Quinn asked, but Daisy didn’t hear her. Her mind was caught on an idea. It was only when Quinn waved her hands in front of Daisy’s face that she snapped out of it.
“Are you okay?” Quinn said with concern.
“I’m better than okay,” Daisy said, grabbing her friend’s hand, a maniacal grin spreading across her face. “I just got an idea that is absolutely terrifying!”
“Terrifying?” Quinn asked. “For whom?”
“For me . . . and if I can convince him, probably for Rob.”
Indeed, it wasn’t terrifying for Rob. Or if it was, he certainly didn’t say so.
“I know what I want to do.” It was one week after her initial idea had formed. One week, where she had done some research, priced her options, and formulated a rough-draft business plan. It had been the most nerve-wracking, exhilarating secret she’d ever kept from Rob, and considering all the strange looks he’d given her this past week, he probably thought she was cheating on him.
Now, Rob looked up at her, dubiously, from the circular saw he was setting up. They were in the basement, which was swiftly being transformed. Currently he was working on some cabinets for the corner kitchenette, but he stopped the second Daisy came down the stairs.
“Carrie go down for her nap?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, and then repeated, “I know what I want to do.”
“I was hoping to start the new Great British Bake Off season, but if you’ve got something else in mind . . .”
She laid down the copy of Chainmail in front of him. The one from the long box she’d gotten in trade for Rob’s well-intentioned Christmas present. She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.
“Is this a new adventure module?” Rob asked. “You want to play D&D? I mean, I’m all for a campaign, but there’s only two of us and Carrie will be awake soon—”
“That is a copy of Chainmail—it’s Gary Gygax’s first published rules for medieval fantasy wargaming, basically his proto D&D. I found it in a long box at that comic shop in Cambridge. It’s in great condition, and see that squiggle there? . . . it’s signed by Gygax.”
“Wow,” Rob said, with proper reverence. “I take it that’s quite the find.”
“I have friends in Los Angeles, people from games I’ve run, who would pay over a thousand dollars for this.”
Rob finally looked up from the booklet to her face.
“A thousand dollars?” he said. “Seriously? What else was in that box?”
“Stuff That Guy at the comic store wouldn’t have recognized as worthwhile in a million years,” she said. “But I did. And it got me thinking—if That Guy can have a successful store, why can’t I?”
Rob blinked at her. Waiting.
“I figured out what I want to do—here, in Needleton. I want to open up my own comic and game store.”
Rob looked down at the booklet. Ran his finger across the (plastic-covered) title and signature.
“This is a great find, and I’d put you up against any professional nerd any day of the week, but . . . do you really think you can run a store?”
“Yes,” she answered definitively. “I have retail experience, I know how to order and inventory stock. And having run around like crazy trying to put this Family Fun Fest on I know what it takes to get something on its feet. Not to mention more than a passing acquaintance with the permit office at town hall. But instead of selling sweater sets or ordering bouncy houses, I’d actually be doing something I care about.