1
Eliza
I stare at the email from Bramblewood Manor. They’re willing to pay me five grand for a few days’ munching from my wee herd of monsters.
Pittsburgh is overflowing with invasive vines, but I’m short on income as we sail into December. My Mobile Urban Natural Clearing Herd can be in and out of this fancy property in plenty of time for their Yule Gala, so this feels like a huge relief.
There are just a few small problems. Hiccups, really.
For starters, the city still hasn’t paid me for my weed clearing work in Highland Park, and I’m caught in some endless loop of quarterly payment processing.
Which means I haven’t been able to pay my hoof guy, so he won’t sign off on my herd health, so… technically I can’t say yes to this gig right now.
I write a quick response asking if they’re at least able to pay half up front.
Then, of course, I need to ask Martinez if he’ll accept $2,500 toward what I owe him for just one more tiny little hoof check.
I sigh. I am so humbled by what I don’t know about running a business. Nobody ever used the phrase “cash flow” in high school, and it’s not like I had anyone showing me the ropes when I started up MUNCH. Heck, nobody even believed me that “goats as invasive weed control” is a viable business idea.
Well, I sure showed them. Sort of.
I gaze out the window at the pasture, where my sweet beasties are devouring another truckload of Timothy hay while their guard donkey, Chiron, looks on menacingly.
I’ll never admit any of this, but these animals are truly naughty. Just a few months ago, they darn near wrecked my sister Eden’s wedding by charging the couple just as they were about to kiss. Luckily, Eden and her now-husband were too lovesick to even notice something like a butt-butt from a goat.
It was just a gentle little tap, really.
My laptop pings, and I glance at the screen to see a response from Bramblewood.
Dear Ms. Storm: We are delighted you are able to provide services as requested. It is not our policy to pre-pay. We can, however, offer a 10% deposit to retain your services if you could forward an invoice.
Most sincerely,
Mandy Warnick
Event Coordinator
I blow out a long breath. I’m going to have to woman-up and make a stink with the city to get what I’m owed. What business can float five figures for an entire quarter? I really need to get better at reading the contracts I sign rather than just scribbling a half signature and hoping I’m not getting screwed.
This is why people hire lawyers.
I peel off my overalls and thermal and realize I’m wearing a super ratty sports bra and underpants I’d be ashamed to have a paramedic cut off me in an accident. I hear Chiron braying outside, yelling at me for being a perpetual slob.
Whatever. I spend the majority of my time with ungulates.
My clothes are functional. Except the sports bra. That’s more of a suggestion of a boulder-holder at this point. I ransack my drawers, come up empty-handed. I can’t go into a professional space with my boobs flopping around, small though they might be.
I decide to double up on the ratty bras and slide a dress over my head. Except the neckline of my cutest wrap dress reveals the fraying, gray top of the bras. I groan and rummage deeper into my closet, finding a cardigan with a hole in one armpit. Real professional, Eliza.
I ease my legs into some tights, which are in excellent shape because I never wear them.
Overall, I don’t look too bad. I slip on some Maryjanes and jump in my truck to head down the hill and over the Allegheny River to downtown Pittsburgh.
It takes ages to find a parking spot, and it’s nearly closing time when I finally make it through security and into the correct line. There’s one person in front of me, a super tall dude in a dark pea coat. I spend a few minutes ogling the sharply creased navy trousers and smartly polished brown shoes he’s got on. I can’t see much else of him since he’s leaned over with his hands on the counter, his dark head pressed against the glass, trying to shout at the clerk.
I get why they need these thick plexiglass dividers, but it sure makes it difficult to speak to the person on the other side.
Even so, this guy is more agitated than he ought to be. He hollers, “This is an agricultural product and a decorative item. They’re living trees.”
