The space between my chin and the heel of my palm started to sweat as I stared out the store window at the people walking by. OK, so today was going to be a bad day. Technically, since my day at work was almost over, it was already a bad day. Not to mention I had a coffee date with my mom that was rapidly approaching. Other than the fact that I’d have a reason to leave work early, I dreaded meeting my mom. Our little coffee dates rarely ended on a good note.
As much as I’d love to put off facing the dragon, it was time to go.
“Shannon! I’m gonna go ahead and leave, OK? I’ll keep my cell close in case you need me,” I yelled.
I seriously doubted that anything would happen in the next thirty minutes that would require my excellent management skills, especially considering we may have had one or two customers all day.
“Go ahead, honey. See you when I get home!” She called back.
“Remember, call my cell if you need anything and please don’t forget to lock the top lock. Mrs. Franklin will have a fit if you forget again,” I said as she came from the back of the store.
I watched as Shannon stumbled around with way too many tiny jewelry boxes piled in her arms. She tossed them on the front counter and smiled innocently. A stray lock of bright red hair attacked her eyes and I laughed at the face she made as she blew it out of her vision.
“I got ya’ covered, Lil. Have fun with your mom,” she teased.
Rolling my eyes, I walked out of the store and made my way toward my car.
When I got my license, my mom tried to convince me to let her buy me an expensive sports car. I think she was more worried about my sixteen-year-old reputation than I was. As if a girl like me would ever be happy with a car that’s too small. I’ve had to deal with things that were “too small” my entire life, why the hell would I torture myself more? Did she seriously think I’d want to stuff myself into a skinny girl car every day? Um…no thanks! Feeling like a sardine was never my thing.
All skinny sports cars aside, things mean more when you buy them for yourself anyway. If I let my mom buy me everything she offered I wouldn’t have room in my life for anything.
Thankfully, my mom moved past the point of trying to live my life. That was only after years of trying to make her understand that I was nothing like her.
I’ve always been the kind of person who likes to do things for myself. I want to work for anything that I acquire in my life. For instance, I love my car, and not because it’s the greatest car ever, but because I paid for it with my own money. Money I earned back before my life was changed forever, before grandma died and left me millions. It’s my car. My mom doesn’t understand that. She’s never worked a day in her life.
I’ve never hated her for that, she’s just playing the cards she was dealt. My grandparents were always wealthy, so she’s never known any different. I was raised with money, too, but my dad dumped tons of reality into my life before he ran off to California without me.
Simply put, the money’s mine. The huge amount was dropped on me from my grandma’s will. I received it on my twentieth birthday, but I’d give it all back for just one more day with her.
She was a lot like my mom, meaning she loved to spend money. The difference was she wanted me to be happy with myself—she never made me feel like a disappointment. Her pride in me was evident, while my mom always looked down on me, made me feel like I was just one step below where I should be.
My mom always was a snob, though she’d never admit it. If you removed her impressive bitch mask, you’d see that she has a seriously diluted sense of self-worth. If she had an honest moment, she’d admit that having money makes her feel superior to everyone else. I think she gets off on it.
I’ve never felt the need to make my life less abnormal than it’s always been by being flashy with cash that I never wanted to begin with.
Normalcy has been in short supply for me. My permanent single status ruled the all-girls private school I grew up in, and I was dubbed Large Lilly, a.k.a. the Virgin Mary. Just call me the president of the twenty-year-old virgins club! The member list includes me and a bunch of unattractive nuns.
When it finally happens for me, it’ll be real. I have no desire to be in the kind of relationship my parents had before they divorced. They were miserable and hated each other. It was the perfect example of what not to be. I want love…the kind they write books about, but my fear of rejection refuses to make it possible.
A special shout out to all the awesome high school girls who taunted me daily. Thanks for the fabulous fat girl complex.
There’s a sense a comedy surrounding my situation. Technically, I could have anything I want. I could buy anything, but the one thing I can’t buy is the one thing I crave. It’s not like you could run thru the closest drive thru and grab a relationship.
One hot boy toy to go, please!
My inner ranting was cut short by the bell over the door to Mirabelle’s, my favorite little cafe. My mom was already seated as she sipped her vanilla espresso. I hated the fact that she chose to sit in a booth instead of a table. I’d pull my fingernails out before I admitted that the booths were too small for me.
Guess who gets to play squeeze the fat girl in the tiny booth today?
“How was work?” Mom asked.
My presence didn’t even warrant her to look up from her daily newspaper—the financial pages, no doubt.
“Good,” I said. “How was the spa?”
I held my breath as I sucked in my stomach and slid into the seat. The table dug into my mini muffin top.
She ignored my spa question.
“Your father called. He says it’s been nearly two weeks since he’s heard from you.”
“Yeah, I know. I need to call him. I’ve just have been so busy at work. We got a brand new shipment in for the fall. Me and Shannon have been killing ourselves trying to get it all set up. You should come by, Mom. We have tons of stuff I know you’d love.”
She looked up at me like I’d lost my mind. Her newspaper rattled to the table.
“Honey, no offense, but you know I don’t shop at those kinds of places. I wish you’d quit that awful job, or at least consider working somewhere more appropriate. Your grandfather’s probably turning in his grave at the thought of his angel working countless hours. You weren’t bred for that, Lilly.” She blew on her espresso, sending the scent of vanilla my way.
“I know, Mom, but I enjoy it there. Mrs. Franklin’s talking about making me area manager over all three stores. I hope I get the job.”
“If we’re being honest with each other, I hope you get fired from that pitiful place,” she sniffed.
A mocha latte was placed in front of me. Going to the same café almost every day has its benefits. They always know what I want. I walk in and they get it ready for me.
“Here you go, Lilly. Having a good day?” Joey smirked at me.
He’s the only male worker at Mirabelle’s and a joker to boot.
“Oh yeah, today’s been a fabulous day. It’s getting better, too,” I said, sarcastically.
It was an inside joke between me and the people that work at the café. Since Mirabelle’s has always been my meeting place with mom, they’ve figured out how well our little meeting is going by how many lattes I order. One latte usually means it was a pleasant conversation, quick and to the point. Two lattes means things didn’t go so well. Three means I’m probably about three minutes away from pulling my hair out and hanging my mother by a make shift napkin noose.
“Mom!” I said in a hushed tone after Joey leaves the table. “Why would you say that? You hope I get fired? I can’t believe you’d wish bad things on me like that. I have to have that job for sanity purposes. I’m so sorry that I refuse to live like you, but that’s no reason for you to say mean things to me.”
I rolled my eyes before nursing my latte and wishing I had told her I couldn’t get out of work.
Mom continued on and on about me not needing to work. I tuned her out. It’s alwa
ys about money with her. Normal families argued because the children constantly asked the parents for money. In my case, we argued because I refused to blow it.
There have been a few times when expensive name brand handbags and shoes would mysteriously show up at my door—brand names I can’t even pronounce. Normal people don’t wear twelve-hundred dollar shoes. Needless to say, Shannon has a pretty impressive closet.
As I continued to tune my mom out, I noticed a cute couple at a corner table. They were gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. Their elbows were rested on the table for balance as they each leaned in to get closer to the other. It was adorable to watch as he smiled at her and softly rubbed her hand. Her cheeks were turning pink as he whispered sweet nothings to her from across the table.
I smiled secretly to myself at the love story that was unfolding in front of me. Their love for each other was evident. It was written in their smiles and seeped out of their eyes. I couldn’t look away. I hated myself for being a crazy, romance stalker, but the longing that crashed over me was paralyzing.
“Lilly! What’s gotten into you? Are you even listening to me?”
I snapped my attention back to my mom.
“Of course I’m listening. I have a lot on my mind right now.”
“Sweetie, you know you can talk to me about anything. Go ahead, exactly what’s bothering you?”
The couple in the corner caught my attention once more.
“Mom, did you love dad?”
She straightened her body as if reflecting the awkward question with her chest.
“I loved your father very much. Unfortunately, my love wasn’t enough for the both of us. Why do you ask such a strange question?”
“No reason,” I said. “Just curious what it felt like.”
She looked at me sadly as she proceeded to pat my hand in an attempt to be motherly.
“OK, enough with this nonsense. Let’s do something fun. Let’s go shopping! We can buy whatever you want, anything that’ll make you happy. Just tell me what it is and I’ll make sure you get it.”
Growing up, anytime some skinny girl at school would laugh at me or we had a school dance that I never had a date to—mom was always the first one to blow it off as no big deal. She’d buy something fun and after a while I’d get over it. It was her way. The only way she knew how to show affection was to buy things. Instead of the sweet words and motherly hugs, I got gifts.
“Money can’t buy everything, Mom,” I said as I looked back to the cute couple who was now making out in their little corner.
Mom looked at them, too. She knew right away what I meant.
“Are you lonely, Sweetie? Because I’ll be the first to tell you that you do not need a man to make you happy. Trust me. I had one for twenty years and I was miserable.” She laughed at her little joke.
I smiled at her and then gave her a forced laugh.
“Just forget it, Mom. Let’s go shopping. I could use a few new shirts and a pair of shoes,” I said, hoping she would forget what she had just witnessed.
I hated shopping for clothes. Trying to find something decent to fit me was my idea of Hell. I’d gladly go through Hell if it meant my mom would forget the conversation we just had. The last thing I wanted was my mom trying any stupid match making schemes with a bunch of idiot men who’d rather be celibate than touch me. Of course, it worked.
I listened as she went over all the stores she wanted to visit and the things she wanted to buy. I followed her out of the café barely paying attention.
Today wasn’t my day. All the mushy love thoughts and the “no one wants me” whining was starting to get on my nerves. Aunt Flo’s definitely knocking at my door, and she brought the bitch triplets P, M, and S with her.
I stood in the first store we went to and daydreamt of a hot bubble bath, candles, and Christina Perri on low volume. All this shopping for expensive crap that would never fit, when all I really wanted was a nice hot bubble bath and a naughty threesome with Ben & Jerry’s. So much for that idea!
Three
The Proposition
I haven’t worn a tie since my grandfather’s funeral when I was fifteen. These bank officials damn well better appreciate that. I’d already spent most of the morning stuck in traffic all the way from Walterboro to downtown Charleston. It’s usually a thirty minute trip, if you take the interstate. Today it took me damn near an hour and a half.
I sat in the lobby and silently prayed that these bank boys would give us a shot at an extension. I just needed some extra time…anything that would keep me and my little family in our home. Maybe they could give us two more months on top of the ninety days? What’s two more months?
The devil on my shoulder stuffed negative thoughts into my brain. What if they refused? We’d have to start over fresh somehow. That’s not really a scary thought for me, except for that fact that poor dad wouldn’t know what to do with himself. The shop is all he’s ever known.
The minutes felt like hours and I found myself dazing in and out. I picked up a magazine and flipped through it without even looking at the pages. I felt like I was being watched so I looked around the room once more. I noticed a lady sitting across from me, an attractive lady actually. She was older, late forties maybe? Not really my type, but she was still kind of sexy in a cougar dominatrix kind of way.
She was openly staring back at me. Doing nothing to hide the fact that she was checking me out, her eyes moved from my eyes down to my crotch. The way she stared at me didn’t match her look. Legs crossed all prim and proper like, she smiled seductively at me. I smiled back. Hey, if she wanted to play, I could play, too. Then her face dropped and her smile was replaced with a sarcastically lifted brow and a pinched mouth.
I shook my head and looked away. I didn’t have time for an old tease.
Finally, after what felt like days, the lady behind the desk called me back. I stepped through the door of the bank manager’s office.
“Mr. Michaels, I presume?” The man behind the desk asked.
He stood and held out his hand, I shook it. My sweaty palm made a squishing noise when I squeezed it, giving away my nerves.
This has to work. It’s our last resort.
“My name is Mr. Schaefer. What can I help you with?”
I took my seat and started to fidget a little. This was the most important thing I’ve ever done and getting refused just wasn’t an option at this point.
“Well, Mr. Schaefer, I won’t waste your valuable time so I’m gonna get straight to the point. We owe this bank more money than we got and we only have ninety days to come up with that money. I’m here to ask you for more time, an extra sixty days, maybe?” I said quickly.
He picked up a small stack of papers and tapped them against the desk as he organized them.
“Mr. Michaels, I’m going to be completely honest with you. I’ve taken a good look at your file and there’s just nothing more we can do. I feel horrible about this, I really do, but if the balance isn’t paid in the next ninety days, we’re going to be forced to foreclose on all of your father’s properties, the business included. I’m deeply sorry. If there’s anything else I can help you with, you just let me know.”
“You’re tellin’ me there’s no other option?” I said loudly.
I knew the people in the waiting room could hear me, but I didn’t care. This was my life he was messing with. This was Jenny’s life he was messing with. Our home and our work, the way we survived.
“Mr. Schaefer, I appreciate the fact that this is your job and everything, but you gotta find another way!” I yelled. “There’s no way that we can come up with that kind of money that fast and I’ll be damned if you or any of these little stuck up bastards you got working here are gonna take our home.”
“Mr. Michaels, I think it’d best if you left before I have to call security.”
“Then I guess you better call security because I’m not leaving until we come to some kind of agreement.”
“I understand
that you and your daddy are having money issues, but it’s not really mine or the bank’s problem. If we handed out free money or more time to every poor person that walked through the door we’d go out of business, too. Maybe your father should think about the way he runs things,” he snapped.
Before I knew it, I was standing over Mr. Schaefer with a sore fist and his blood on my knuckles. That bastard better be glad I didn’t keep going. He had the audacity to talk down about me and my dad…in my face, no less. His high-horsed ass needed a big reality check and I’m glad I was the one to give it to him.
Security arrived just as I was backing away toward the door and I knew I was going to jail.
I came here to try and fix things, but because I couldn’t control my damn temper, dad was going to have to dip into our measly savings to get me out of jail. I really screwed up this time.
Four hours later, I laid on the little bunk that the jail provided and ran different ideas through my head. I decided against calling dad to bail me out. I could spend a night in jail. I knew they’d let me out in the morning and to be honest I’d rather dad worry about me for the night than to use money we needed to bail my stupid ass out of jail. It was worth being behind these bars. That bastard got what he deserved.
The cell door opened and a police officer stepped into the tiny space.
“OK, Michaels, time to go,” he said.
“What do you mean? I just got here.”
“Your bail’s paid. You’re free to go.”
I followed the officer out of the cell and down the hall to the front desk of the police station. I collected all my stuff, my empty wallet included, and turned to face my dad.
He was nowhere to be found. I did one more quick check around the police station trying to find him. He definitely wasn’t there.
Maybe he went to wait in the truck?
I walked out of the police station and checked the parking lot. Dad’s truck was nowhere in sight, which meant that he was so pissed off that he left me here.
On the Plus Side Page 2