Snowman

by AC Netzel

  I pour myself a piping hot cup of morning joe, grab a dish, and plate my breakfast from the chafing dishes lined up on the credenza. Eggs Benedict, a toasted English muffin, and a slice of Canadian bacon. Carefully balancing the plate and coffee mug, I take an empty seat at the head of the table.

  Sipping my coffee, I watch as my tablemates side-eye and nudge each other with their elbows. Internally, I roll my eyes, but I’m in no position to call them out on their lack of subtility.

  “Can someone please pass the strawberry preserves?” I ask. Not the best ice breaker, but it’s all I got.

  Without uttering a word, Jingle/Belle slowly—and I mean molasses pouring out of the jar slow—slides the preserves my way. The rumble of the glass jar scraping against the wooden tabletop magnifies due to the quiet in the room.

  “Thank you,” I say, ignoring the awkward tension.

  She nods slightly, then lifts her fork and takes a bite of her eggs.

  We eat in uncomfortable silence. The clanging of silverware replaces the usual spirited morning conversation. It takes everything in my power not to slam my eyelids tight and scream, repulsed by Winter’s amplified coffee sipping. Every loud, gurgling, slurp he takes grates on my last nerve. But I play it cool.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a sunny day today,” I say, trying for some small talk. “There’s no snow in the forecast.”

  They respond with silence, my tablemates staring anywhere I’m not.

  “Where’s Holly?” I ask. She may have been unhappy with me yesterday, but at least she talked to me.

  Winter points to the kitchen with a hesitant smile, unable to betray his peace and harmonic ways. His wife, Rainbow, shoots him another warning glare. For a hippie-dippie tie-dyed queen, she’s awfully high strung. If anyone needs to smoke some weed and relax, it’s her. Woodstock’s going to cancel her membership card if she doesn’t ease up.

  I turn my attention to the Jingle Belles. “When do you expect to move back into your houses?”

  “You mean the homes you want to steal away from us?” Jingle/Belle accuses, dramatically folding her arms in front of her chest in a huff.

  Okay, not exactly her usual friendly demeanor, but at least someone is talking to me.

  “I’m not stealing anything,” I assure her. “We’re paying above market value. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for you. For this community. Let’s sit down and discuss it further. I’m sure after we talk, you’ll better understand our vision and how it will positively impact you and revitalize your businesses.”

  “We are sitting down,” the other sister chimes in with sassy sarcasm in her tone as she folds her arms in front of her chest too.

  “If you give me two minutes, I can run upstairs and get my laptop. I’ll show you renderings of the future Arid Falls. Trust me, it’s impressive and innovative.”

  They stare at me in silence, pursing their lips in unison. Their body language isn’t exactly receptive, but no one’s actually voiced their objection, so I seize the moment. I push my chair back, grabbing this unexpected opportunity I’ve made to plead my case. I stand and head toward the stairway. “I’ll be right back,” I tell them before they have the chance to stop me.

  With cautiously renewed optimism, I run up the staircase, swipe my laptop off the bed, and sprint back down the stairs, excited and rejuvenated. This is it. My chance to circumvent Nick’s influence over these people.

  Once they see what I have to offer, they’ll surely change their minds. They’d have to be crazy not to. I’m going to pull this off. Deep in my gut, I feel it. I know it.

  I reenter the dining room and stop in my tracks. My body tenses and my jaw clenches tight.

  Son of a bitch.

  Nick leans back in a formally empty chair at the dining table, raises an eyebrow, and smirks. An arrogant, I-want-to-punch-him-in-the-throat, this-guy-is-a-jerk, smirk. His blue eyes lit with evil delight.

  “Oh,” I say with a tense smile, still maintaining my professional demeanor in front of the others. “It’s you.”

  “It’s me,” he says smugly.

  “Where’s Noelle?”

  “Just took her to school.”

  “Any reason why you decided to come here after dropping her off?”

  “Paying my aunt and uncle a visit.”

  Bull. I know why he’s here. He wants to sabotage this project.

  “Don’t you have a store to run?”

  “I’m opening up a little late. Left a note on the door. Perks of being the owner.”

  “Leaving notes on doors isn’t exactly a smart business model.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” he says insincerely. “I’m not worried about it.”

  “What if some fisherman has a worm emergency? You can’t let your customers down.” Go away. I almost had them.

  “They can let themselves in and get the worms.”

  “Wait a minute. You left a note on an unlocked door?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, anyone can just come in and take what they want?”

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t you worry about theft?”

  “Nope.”

  “The way you conduct your business, I think you would benefit the most from our proposal.”

  He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s never going to happen, Sloane.”

  I cock my head to the side and smile the fakest smile I can muster. “We’ll see, Snowman.”

  “Snowman! Sloane!” Jingle/Belle exclaims with amusement. “How darling! They have nicknames for each other. You’d make an adorable couple.” Her eyes widen as she grasps the collar of her sweater. “I’m sorry,” she mouths to her sister.

  “That’s it! We can’t do this anymore,” the other sister shakes her head and huffs. “I’m sorry, Nick. We tried. Meanness just isn’t in our nature.”

  He grins, displaying the sexiest laugh lines at the corners of his gorgeous eyes.

  “It’s okay, ladies. Just be yourselves,” Nick tells them.

  “Phew! That was tough. And it felt awful.” She swipes the back of her hand dramatically against her forehead, her relief apparent. “I’m sorry I was so rough on you, Summer.”

  That was rough? I asked for jelly, and she gave it to me.

  “It’s,” I suck in a fake sniffle, “fine.” Playing the wounded victim may work to my advantage—at least with this crowd.

  Is it professional? No.

  Do I care? Not anymore.

  “Oh gosh, I feel terrible putting you through that.” She frowns and places a hand over her heart.

  “Please don’t worry. I’m… I’m,” I wipe an invisible tear from the corner of my eye, “okay.” My weakened voice cracks. I peek over at Nick, who’s rolling his eyes.

  She slaps her hands to her cheeks. “Oh dear, how can we make it up to you?”

  “You don’t need to do anything… unless…” I shake my head. “No, forget it.”

  “What?” she asks.

  “Would you like to see my plans? I worked so hard on them.” Slowly, I bat my eyelashes and give them my saddest doe eyes. The truth is, I didn’t work on them at all. These plans were created long before I ever heard of Arid Falls.

  I know playing the guilt card over the two seconds they pretended they were angry with me is a shitty thing to do. But I finally got my foot in the door, and even if I got there dishonestly, I’m not letting that sucker close for anything.

  “Of course, dear. Of course, we want to see it.”

  I give her a measured smile while bursting out with jazz hands and a tap dance on the inside. Nick leans back in his chair, unmoved by my bogus dramatics. I want to stick my tongue at him and flip him all the birds—fingers and toes—but I suppress my glee with the knowledge that eventually, I’ll have to convince him to sell too.

  I open my laptop and boot it up.

  “You’re wasting our time,” Nick says dryly, as he sips his coffee.

  “I mean this in the nicest possible way,” my to
ne drips in tooth-decaying sweetness. “You can leave at any time. I’m sure…” Searching my brain trying to recall every trick I’ve learned to remember names, I come up blank. “… your neighbors won’t mind.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll stay.” He places his coffee mug on the table, unbuttons the cuffs of his flannel shirt, and rolls up his sleeves. “Wouldn’t want to offend you.”

  His biceps strain against his shirt as he folds his arms in front of his chest… bulging, beautiful. And his forearms—muscular, toned… luscious.

  Note to self: Do not get distracted by the arm porn. He’s the enemy.

  “No offense taken. Please. Go.” I look back at my waiting audience and reel in my New York attitude. “I mean, if you want to go.”

  “I’m good right here.”

  My chest tightens and I grit my teeth. This pompous bastard has sure learned fast how to push my buttons. Fine. If he wants a showdown, he’s got one. I wave a dismissive hand in his direction and turn to the sisters.

  “Okay, uhm…,” nameless women, “ladies, I can’t wait to show you the future of Arid Falls.”

  “You mean the end of Arid Falls, don’t you?” Nick interrupts.

  God, I hate this guy.

  I cock my head and smile kindly at him. “Oh, Nicholas, Nicholas... What am I going to do with you?” A swift kick in the nuts, rocket him to the moon, a swim with cement shoes in the lake? So many possibilities. “Why don’t we save our questions until the end of my presentation. Okay?” I ask, using my super sugary fake customer service voice.

  “Go on.” He holds up his hands in surrender.

  I click on the Arid Falls file and begin my presentation with a 3-D rendering of the lakefront condominium community.

  “We’ve taken the natural beauty of this area and integrated it with a contemporary twist for a new and improved, modern yet still rustic community. Trust me, we’ve captured something extraordinary. Something really special.”

  Loud and fast, Nick drums his fingers on the table while I speak, creating yet another distraction.

  “Excuse me.” I hold up a finger to the ladies. Halting my presentation, I glare at Nick. “Do you mind?”

  “Mind what?” he asks casually.

  “Can you stop the finger tapping?”

  “Was I tapping my fingers?” he asks, feigning innocence.

  “Yes.” You jackass. “Please stop.”

  “My bad.” He extends his hand, gesturing me to continue. “Go on.”

  I redirect my attention to the ladies. “As I was saying, we have civil engineers, urban planners, landscape architects—” Just as I’m hitting my sales pitch stride, I’m interrupted again.

  “Landscape architects? What do they do?” Jingle/Belle asks as she places her hand on top of mine.

  “Excuse me. There are no questions,” Nick interjects. “Isn’t that right, Summer?”

  How did I ever think this guy was kind? He’s kind of an asshole, that’s about it.

  “It’s fine.” I narrow my eyes in his direction. He returns the same menacing glare. I refocus on my captive audience. “Landscape architects design and plan outside spaces like gardens and parks.”

  “Chrysanthemum gardens?” she asks hopefully, clasping her hands together.

  “Do you like chrysanthemums?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes. They’re my absolute favorite flowers.”

  “Then… yes. Tons and tons of them.” I have no idea what flowers they’re planting.

  “All Spring and Summer long?” Nick asks.

  “Yeah.” I shrug a shoulder. “Sure.”

  “They’re a fall plant,” he states flatly.

  Did I mention I hate this guy?

  “Hybrids. They bloom all year.” I know nothing about plants. I’m not exactly sure what a hybrid plant is, but I’m not allowing him to ruin this deal over an ugly flower with an unpleasant scent. I continue with my presentation, clicking on the next slide. “These are the condominium dwellings. Your choice of two and three bedrooms, two full baths. Perfect for singles, couples or families just starting out. Imagine all the yarn and chutneys you and… your sister… could sell to a growing community like this.”

  The art of salesmanship is infinitely more successful when you can personalize the pitch. Dancing around my crappy memory has thrown a wrench in my usual tactics. Fortunately, I’ve been able to compensate for my name retention slip despite my brain fart.

  “Imagine the traffic nightmare. All those cars jamming up our one-lane streets,” Nick chimes in.

  “I thought you were saving your questions until the end.” I hide my hand behind my back and ball it into a fist.

  “That was not a question. It was a statement.” He laces his fingers together, stretches his arms out in front of him, and cracks his knuckles.

  “Civil engineers have mapped out wider roads in key locations.” I turn to the sisters. “Traffic won’t be an issue.”

  “So, you’re comfortable knocking down our forests?” he asks.

  “We’ll plant more trees.”

  “Where?” he asks pointedly.

  “Where what?”

  “Where are you going to plant the trees?”

  “In the ground,” I answer sarcastically.

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “The ground. You know—dirt, grass.”

  Where I’d like to bury you.

  “Is there an exact location you’re planting these phantom trees?”

  “In Christmas Chrysanthemum Park,” I state definitively.

  “Oh my goodness! The park has a Christmas themed name?” Jingle/Belle asks, grinning ear to ear.

  “I was saving it as a surprise.” I shoot my arch-nemesis a menacing glare. “Too bad Nick ruined it for you.”

  My four original tablemates scowl at Nick.

  “Not cool, man.” Winter shakes his head and gives Nick a thumbs down.

  A sly smile grows from the corner of my mouth. I think the tide is finally turning.

  “That sounds lovely,” Jingle says. “But where will we live if we sell?”

  “That’s up to you. With the profit you’ll make, you’ll have countless options. You could go into town and buy an established home with plenty of cash to spare. Or you may want to consider moving into one of the condos. They’re new, clean, freshly painted, and zero maintenance. There’ll be a top-notch building management team there to help. And think of all the new neighbors shopping at your brand-new yarn and chutney stores located in the small retail area.”

  “She means a strip mall,” Nick adds irritably.

  “It’s not a strip mall. It’s tastefully done. Like Cape May or Nantucket. Cobblestone sidewalks, quaint streetlights, cozy little shops. All very Currier and Ives.” One thing I’ve learned quickly during this presentation, the more I throw out Christmassy keywords, the more excited the ladies get.

  “What about my alpacas? Where will they live?”

  How the hell would I know?

  “Well, err. There was talk about adding a small petting zoo with reindeer and umm… homeless shelter animals. We could set up a manger scene every December with all the animals. Wouldn’t you love to share your beloved alpacas with children and have them be part of that extraordinary holiday event?”

  “That would be amazing.” She nods enthusiastically. “They’re such gentle and loving creatures.”

  “Of course, it’s not set in stone just yet… but I have a good feeling about it.” I’m sure Miranda’s team could figure out how to carve a small piece of land for an animal shelter as a tradeoff for the deal to go through.

  “Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” Nick mumbles out loud.

  I ignore him and continue with my presentation. I’ve addressed school enhancements, solutions to increases in traffic, gardens, road improvements, ditch-free living, and everything else I could possibly think of has been tackled.

  These ladies are eating this up like a Christmas goose. As I click on the
last slide of my presentation, grateful that the Lumberjerk finally shut his trap and let me speak uninterrupted, I close my laptop with my chin held high and a satisfied smile.

  I know I nailed this. I can see the wheels turning in their brains. They like what they’ve seen. They understand the benefits and are open to them. This is real progress.

  “So, now that you’ve seen all we have to offer… are there any questions I haven’t covered?” I ask.

  Nick raises his hand.

  I exhale a sigh and roll my eyes. “You have a question, Nick?”

  “Just one.”

  “Fine. What’s your question?”

  Straightening himself up in his chair with his shoulders squared back, he smiles then points to the two sisters.

  “What are their names?”

  Chapter 21

  “Ex… Excuse me?” I stammer. My breathing quickens and my cheeks become warm.

  “You heard me. What are their names? It’s a simple question.”

  Deflect! Deflect!

  “Did you forget their names?” I ask indignantly, in an effort to turn the tables.

  “Are you deflecting?” The bastard knows my game and turns the tables back on me.

  I. Hate. Him.

  “I’m not going to dignify…,” I begin.

  “Because you don’t know,” he interrupts.

  The guests at the table observe us like they’re watching a tennis match. Back and forth, back and forth.

  “This is so disrespectful,” I scoff.

  “What’s disrespectful? Me asking you this question or you not remembering their names?”

  I turn my attention to the sisters, jutting my chin in Nick’s direction. “Does he talk this rudely to you too? Is this the kind of neighbor you want? One who casually throws out outrageous allegations?”

  “You can easily prove me wrong,” he says arrogantly. He points at one of the sisters. “What’s her name?”

  I should have written their names on the palm of my hand the last time I heard it. Should have. Would have. Could have. It’s a moot point now.

  I press my lips together, forming a hard line, and inhale a deep breath. I’m caught, trapped in my lies and half-truths, and he knows it. The sisters aren’t going to take kindly to the fact that I’ve been faking it all this time. They’ll hold it against me, and this deal that I could almost taste will be dead.