by Peggy Bird
Luis glanced over at her second oldest brother Ernesto, a signal to run with the conversational ball, apparently. Great. They were tag-teaming her. She wondered if they’d scripted in advance what they were saying.
“It’s time we stop paying for you to have a carefree life, Izzy,” Ernesto said. “Most of us have families, kids to support. We want to sell the house so we can finally get our part of the estate.”
“Still Isabella. Still not Izzy.”
“Jesus, Izzy, is that all you get out of this conversation? We use a nickname you’ve never liked?” Carlos, the next brother in the lineup, chimed in.
“What I’m getting from this conversation is that you four, as usual, are making decisions that affect me without any consideration of what I might want.”
Luis looked like he was about to interrupt and bring the conversation back his way, but she wasn’t going to let him. “You had your say, brother. Now it’s my turn.” She raised her eyes to meet his gaze so directly she swore he flinched. Good. Maybe he finally saw how angry she was.
“I have done everything this family has ever asked of me. When I graduated from college, I went into the family real estate office like I was expected—no, ordered—to do. I didn’t complain. Instead, I worked my way up from receptionist to running the place. But you couldn’t let me enjoy my success for long, could you? I was told to move to Portland to take care of Mom and Dad. I didn’t object even though I had friends and a life in California.” Her hands fisted with the anger she still felt from having it all yanked out from under her when, two years before, her mother had been diagnosed with cancer and her aging father had been unable to manage her care. Because she was the only girl, she was expected to take care of her parents. So she met her obligation like the good daughter she was.
From the sideways glances Luis and Carlos exchanged, she knew she’d hit a nerve. “I’m an equal part of this family, and I don’t deserve to be talked to like this.” She turned to Javier, the brother closest to her in age and affection, who was sitting beside her on the couch. He looked uncomfortable, like he wasn’t happy with how the conversation was going. “Javier, how could you do this to me on my birthday?”
“I’m sorry, Bella,” Javier said. “We probably should have picked another time. But we’ve been talking about it for weeks, and since we’re all here ...” He let his words trail off and shrugged. “We thought it would be better to tell you in person, and who knows when we’ll all be together again.” He tried to put his arm around her shoulders, but she scooted over to avoid the hug.
“We need to get this taken care of,” Luis went on. “The real estate market’s recovered; houses are selling; it’s time. Besides, don’t you want something better for yourself? From what I can see, all you do is rattle around in a big house, writing short stories you can’t get published while you study off and on for a real estate broker’s license.”
Before she could respond, Javier added, “A broker’s license I don’t think you ever really cared about getting.” Over her weak attempt to ward him off, he took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m right, aren’t I? You really don’t want to get into the real estate business, do you?”
As much as she resented having to admit one of the brothers was right about anything, Javier was correct. She had only said she’d study for the test because she thought the family wanted her to. It had never been her idea to become a real estate broker.
“Look, whatever-your-name-is,” Luis said, “you did a great job running the office in California, and we all agree you were amazing taking care of Mom and Dad. I don’t know what we’d have done without you. But that was then. This is now. We need to close out the estate. And the truth is, the fat bank account Dad left you when he died is getting low. You don’t have to go back to the family business if you don’t want to. But you do have to find something you want to do that makes you enough money to support yourself in a place of your own. That’s reality. You can’t afford to keep this house going, and we don’t want to do it anymore.”
“If Dad were still alive, you wouldn’t dare do this to me.” She knew she was tearing up, but she was determined not to cry in front of them.
“If Dad were still alive, we wouldn’t have to do this. But he’s not. And we do. End of story.” Standing in front of her, Luis tried to pull her up from the couch. “Don’t be angry, Isabella. We’re only trying to do what’s best for all of us.” He, too, reached to put an arm around her. “Give me a hug to show me you understand.”
She refused his hand and his hug, standing without his help. Drawing up to the full extent of her five foot two inch height, she glared at him and stuck out her chin. “What I understand is this is a hell of a way to wish me happy birthday.” She picked up several empty coffee cups from the cocktail table in front of her. “All right. If you all agree it’s time to sell the house, I guess I’m outvoted. Put the house on the market. If that’s what you came for, you have it. Now I think it’s time you all left. Until it’s sold, this is still my home. So I have the right to have whom I want here, especially on my birthday. And right now, that doesn’t include any of you. Go back to your families and your expensive houses and luxury cars and leave me alone.” She was tired of the discussion, tired of trying to fight the inevitable. She only wanted them to be gone so she could mourn the end of yet another phase of her life brought on by the demands of her family.
Luis shrugged and, after trying one more time to kiss her goodbye, headed for the door accompanied by Carlos. Ernesto patted her on the arm before he joined them. Javier stayed behind, looking even more uncomfortable than he had before. “I’m sorry. I wish there were ...” he began but didn’t seem to know how to finish. Instead, he changed the subject. “How about I stay and help clean up?”
“No, it’s okay. I can do it myself. And don’t worry about the others. I’ve been steamrolled by those three more times than you’ve had hot meals. I’m used to it.”
She turned so he wouldn’t see the tears beginning to fall and escaped to the kitchen. In a few minutes, she heard the click of the deadlock indicating Javier had left and locked up after himself.
Two hours later, Bella had run a couple loads in the dishwasher, bundled up the tablecloth and napkins for the laundry, and swept up the cookie crumbs her nieces and nephews seemed to have deposited in every room on the first floor. Pouring herself the last of the wine from dinner, she settled in the living room again, surrounded by her father’s books, art glass, and the plants she struggled to keep alive only because he’d loved them so much. She tried not to replay the conversation she’d had with her brothers, but it was hard not to.
The worst part was she knew in her heart, no matter how mean it was of them to spring it on her at her birthday dinner, they were correct—it was time to sell the house. She might not want to join the family business, but she knew enough about it to understand they needed to take advantage of the improved real estate market.
Which meant she had to do what she’d been avoiding ever since her father had died—figure out what was next for her.
Luis accused her of having no focus. That wasn’t true. She’d always had focus. Granted, it hadn’t been on her own dreams and ambitions. Instead she’d concentrated on what her family wanted her to do. Ever since she’d been a kid, she’d tried to be the perfect daughter. She listened to her parents. Didn’t cause any trouble. Didn’t object when the rules for her brothers were different from the rules for her. Gritted her teeth when her father—and often the oldest of her brothers—cross-examined her friends like a prosecutor in a high-profile criminal case. She knew how much her father adored her. Knew he was going to those extremes to do what he thought would protect her. She never complained. At least, not to him. She understood that her father and, later, her brothers were overprotective because she was the baby of the family, a status she seemed doomed never to outgrow.
And, no, she hadn’t pursued her interests. She’d listened to her parents when they said her writing would never pay t
he bills. Instead, she got the business degree the family wanted from the college the family insisted she attend so she could work in the home office of the family real estate business. Like the family wanted.
True, in return for doing what her parents asked her to do, she’d been protected her whole life. Her father had cosigned for her car loan. Her mother slipped her extra money every now and then. And when she moved to Portland, they completely supported her in exchange for her taking care of them.
When her father died, she lost more than her last parent. She lost her moorings, the sense of security they’d given her. It had upset her so much that she’d done a couple foolish things in the months following his death. She’d spent more money than she should have on new clothes, for one. Worse, in a desperate attempt to keep from having to worry about any of the messy details of carving out a life of her own, she’d tried to latch on to a family friend in the hope he would marry her. Thank God Marius Hernandez had been in love with someone else, which saved her from the terrible mistake of marrying someone she didn’t love solely for the security of being taken care of.
After her aborted plan to seduce Marius into marrying her blew up in a very public and embarrassing scene at the Portland Art Museum in front of half the art lovers in the city—and the woman Marius loved—she’d almost been frozen in place, unable to decide how to head her life in a direction that would make her happy. In the past year, she’d only made two decisions of any note. First, she decided to stay in Oregon out of her brothers’ reach so they wouldn’t be able to “help” her anymore. The scene after her birthday dinner showed how well that decision had worked out.
The second decision had been more successful, however. She’d gotten a part-time job, which she loved, with an interesting company run by a woman named Summer Olsen. Maybe that was a place to start. She could ask Summer to help her with her decision. A decision that would be based on what she wanted, not on what her family expected. This time, she’d make a plan for her life based on her goals and ambitions. As soon as she figured out what they were.
Somewhere, under the layers of the “good daughter” who’d been there for years, was a woman who had dreams and desires, just like everyone else. All she had to do was drill down deep enough to find her. And she’d better do it fast. The house wouldn’t take long to sell.
• • •
To fast-track the beginning of her new life, Bella turned to her boss, the owner of “Break Up or Make Up”—or as everyone called it, BU/MU (pronounced Boo-Moo). The firm offered counseling, group sessions, legal advice, and practical assistance to people who were trying to fix broken relationships, either personal or professional. The founder, Summer Olsen, and Darcy Ross, a combination office manager and writer, were the only full-time staff. But the roster of consulting psychologists, social workers trained in counseling, and lawyers, all of whom worked with clients on a contract basis, was extensive. There were also writers available to ghost letters from clients to about-to-be-ex business partners or lovers when clients couldn’t or didn’t want to do it on their own. Bella had been one of those writers for almost two years, gradually moving from a few hours a month to what was now a half-time job. In spite of what her brother assumed, it paid rather nicely.
Bella and Summer had scheduled lunch the Monday after Bella’s family dinner to celebrate her birthday. It was the perfect opportunity for her to pick her boss’s brain about ideas for what she could do or people she should talk to who could help her figure things out. Summer knew everyone in Portland worth knowing and would be only too happy to help, Bella was sure.
When she arrived at the BU/MU office, the very pregnant Darcy greeted her with a birthday card and a hug made awkward by her belly before waving Bella into the boss’s office.
“Happy birthday, sunshine,” Summer said, barely glancing up from her computer. “Give me a few minutes to finish up what I’m doing here, and I’ll be ready to take you out for a birthday lunch.” When she looked up to get a response, she frowned and looked over the tops of her red-framed reading glasses. “Sorry. I guess I should say, happy birthday, raincloud. What’s up?”
So much for putting on a good face.
Bella shook her head, then nodded before shaking her head again.
“Good to see you’re clear about what the problem is. Want to talk about it?”
“I planned to wait until lunch to talk to you, but maybe it would be better to get it off my chest now. Mind if I take the victim’s chair?” Bella dropped into the seat in front of Summer’s desk where her clients usually sat.
“You know I don’t like to call my clients victims. Well, not most of them. What’s going on?”
“My brothers announced at my birthday party on Friday they’re selling my house—my dad’s—our dad’s—house. And they told me I’m a spoiled brat who needs to grow up and find herself.”
“Ouch. Happy birthday from your loving family.”
“Yeah, well, the truth is, however angry they made me by bringing it up on my birthday, they’re sort of right. I haven’t really gotten things together in the year since my dad died. I’ve let it slide because I could. And now I’m not sure how to start. I haven’t really had a lot of practice setting goals for myself. In the past, my goals have been dictated by what my family wanted.”
“I thought you wanted to write.”
“Okay, let me be more specific: I haven’t figured out what I want to do to make enough money to support myself. Writing fiction sure hasn’t done that and won’t for the foreseeable future. The payments for the dozen or so pieces I’ve had published barely cover the cost of gas for my car for a month. And even if I finish editing one of the novels I have drafted and get lucky enough to find a publisher, I’m not well known enough to make much money at it.” She waved a hand helplessly in frustration.
“I’m sorry you had such a rotten birthday dinner. What do you need to cheer you up?”
“Actually, I need more than cheering up; I need advice. I was going to ask you if you could help.”
Summer had been sitting back in her chair with a funny look on her face. Now she took her glasses off and leaned forward on her elbows, staring across the desk for a few moments before saying, “Actually I might be able to give you more than advice.”
Still lost in the memory of her disastrous birthday party, Bella didn’t pick up on Summer’s subtle change of subject at first. “If you have some ideas about a career counselor or someone else I could talk to, please, feel free to give me some recommendations. I’m totally at sea about what to do next. But whatever it is, I have to do it soon because I’m pretty sure the house will move quickly in the current market.”
“I’d be happy to recommend a counselor if you still want one after I tell you about my idea.” Summer picked up a yellow legal pad, then flipped it back onto her desk. “I’ve spent the last couple days trying to write a job description for an ad to find someone to manage this place while Darcy is on her six-month maternity leave. She’s due at the end of September, and I need to find someone soon so I can get her—or him—trained before she leaves. But the more I tried to describe who I was looking for, the more I became convinced I was going about it the wrong way. You could be the answer to my problem.”
“If you need help writing the job description or the ad, I’d be glad to draft it for you. Just tell me what you’re looking for.”
“I’m not suggesting you write the copy; I’m suggesting you take the job.”
Too stunned to answer for a few moments, Bella searched her friend’s face expecting to see a “gotcha” look or a smirk. Instead, Summer’s face seemed to say she meant it. “Why would you want to hire me?”
“Playing down your abilities is not exactly how you get a job, girlfriend.” Summer tore several sheets of paper off the pad and crumpled them up. “If I’d thought of this days ago, I could have saved myself the struggle of trying to describe what I was looking for. All along, I’ve been looking for you.”
&nbs
p; “Me? How do I qualify for the job?”
“Well, I want someone with experience managing an office—and from the way you’ve described your family’s real estate business in California, you were in charge of an operation a lot bigger than this one. Next, I want someone who’s a good writer—which you’ve certainly shown you are.” She lobbed the paper wad into the recycling basket. “And I want someone who knows what we do and is enthusiastic about doing it. Again, you fit the description.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Don’t you see? We can solve each other’s problem. Working for me for six months will give you time to get your feet on the ground and figure out what you want to do next. And hiring you means I won’t have to go through the trauma of finding and training someone new for only a short time. Or, even worse, hiring people from a temp service who won’t be able to do what I need done. And I won’t have to get used to having someone strange in my office every day. I already like having you around. It’s a classic win-win.”
Bella agreed with much of what Summer had said. She understood and supported what Summer was trying to do with her business. And the two women not only got along but also worked well with each other. They’d met at a City Club of Portland lunch. Bella had been there to connect with someone her brother Luis had wanted her to get to know. Summer had been there to pass out her business cards to people at the lunch table. The guy never showed up, but the two women had clicked.
It was a big leap from part-time writer and friend to full-time office manager, though.
“It’s simple: I need you and you need me.”
“If I said yes, what would you be willing to pay?” Bella asked.
“Exactly what I pay Darcy: $4,000 a month plus medical and dental. Does that cover what it would cost to rent an apartment and keep your little bit of metal you call a car on the road?”
“I think so. Plus I still have some savings from what my father left me.” She closed her eyes as she realized, for the first time since her birthday dinner, she felt hopeful. “Okay. I’m in. Where do I sign?”