Again, they’re relaying information I don’t know what to do with.
“It’s hard to get from the bakery before it sells out,” Rita explains. “We’ve had fights start over who gets the last piece—Donna and Dottie still don’t speak to this day.”
“That’s unfortunate, especially over the worst flavor of cake,” I say, earning dirty looks from all three, “but I’m failing to see why you’re bringing this information to me.”
My grandmother sidles up and snakes her arm around my waist. “Because, dear girl, if we don’t intercept you, you’ll rush off in the name of getting work done, and in case you’ve forgotten, you promised to fit in more relaxation and fun.”
Wrong. ShedemandedI did, and I didn’t bother wasting my breath arguing. Relaxation isn’t really a thing for me. Either I’m missing the gene or I lost my ability to relax along the way, because without work or preplanned activities packing my schedule, I stew and feel too antsy.
“Noah,” she says in his general direction, “you’re welcome to join us, of course.” Posed as a suggestion, with strings and trap doors, what these women lack in stealth, they make up for in scheming.
I dart him a glance, heavy with a suggestion to run while he can, and I hope for his sake, he takes it. Even if it leaves me alone to deal with the biddies, it’ll lessen my anxiety and the chances of anyone yelling at me for failing at a job that was supposed to be easy.
With Noah still scowling and Grandma Helen tugging me harder toward the gym, the urge to declare defeat is stronger than I care to admit. But I need this job, and she, along with the rest of her friends and neighbors, need to be safer about their choices.
There’s no time for bingo or getting into a brawl over a piece of cake, but it’s my best excuse to put off Noah. The instant the ladies are distracted, I’ll sneak home to revamp my entire publicity plan.
I’ve assured Jan we can turn Lakeview around, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. I can’t afford to get distracted, second-guess, or let myself backslide.
It’s time to dig in and do what I do…obsess until I find a solution.
Chapter Nine
For a week I’ve faked cheeriness and confidence in an attempt to hide the failure that radiates from me like a beacon, warning other ships and senior citizens to beware of coming this way. Occupancy rates, property expenses, and panic screech through my head with a growing urgency, my fatigued neural pathways desperate for a break from the obsessive-compulsive cycle I’m stuck in. It’s the first thought in my head when I wake up and in the quiet moments while doing my hair or brushing my teeth. Between bites of oatmeal and emails and the hours I spend tossing and turning in my sheets, struggling to fall asleep.
“It’s Sunday,” Grandma Helen says when she finds me on the couch sipping lukewarm coffee, laptop in front of me, notebooks and scribbled papers scattered across several surfaces. Fifi snoozes atop a crinkly pile and occasionally cracks her giant blue eye to see if I’m still freaking out.
“Exactly.” I click between screens, spreadsheets and internet tabs and the running text thread with me and my siblings. “Another week’s passed without much progress.”
One of the perks of OCD is my brain comes at a problem from every angle, again and again, until I come up with a solution; one of the downsides of OCD is my brain comes at a problem from every angle, again and again, until I come up with a solution.
I’m aware it looks like I’m mapping out a crime scene with red string and too much caffeine, but given the burst of nettlesome texts from King EZ and three out of four siblings requesting advice, all the streams are crossing. Will’s decided to take summer classes but is having doubts about trying to finish college faster now that he’s overwhelmed; my sisters are arguing with mom about modesty of prom dresses; and my youngest brother is just counting down his last days of elementary school while my mother laments what she’s going to do with him all summer.
Not sure what the basketball player who got me fired wants, but it’s no longer my job to cater to his every whim, so I’m doing my best to ignore him.
“When’s the last time you played the piano?” Grandma Helen asks. “I still have all your sheet music in the bench.”
“I gave up the piano—it caused too many fights with my mom, and I don’t have time to tinker with keys, anyway. It’s not like playing a song will make the stress go away.”
“Well, you’ve got to do something to relax your brain, Mia. This is too much.” She relocates the printed monthly reports and my yellow legal pad of ideas to another cushion, and Fifi’s climbing onto her lap before she’s fully settled. “You’re stressed and not sleeping.”
Yeah, that’s the downside to living with Grandma Helen. I can’t hide the nervous twirl of my hair, the darkening circles beneath my eyes, or the insomnia that leaves me pacing and rummaging for snacks at odd hours of the night. She pats my thigh. “You’re not responsible for the whole property—if I knew Jan would put that on you, I never would’ve suggested you for the position.”
“Then I’d be unemployed, and if you think I’m stressed now, that’d be even worse.”
“Funny, I think it’d be good for you to take a nice, long break. If you’ll recall, having a job while you spend the summer with me wasyourrequirement, not mine.” She clucks her tongue. “I’m not going to charge you rent or force you to dance for your dinner.”
“No, that’s Rita’s requirement.” Relaxing my eyes causes my vision to split in two, and I rub my fingers over my throbbing temples. I’ve hesitated to speak my concerns for the property aloud, but the lid on my internal pressure cooker rocks, and out it comes. “And what happens if Jan sells to another buyer who decides to serve eviction notices and bulldoze the property?”
“What if the sun flies off its orbit?” Grandma fires back, and of course she thinks I’m jumping to worst-case scenarios.
“We all die,” I say, not sure why I get a sigh for giving thecorrectanswer.
“Such extremes, with you. There are dozens of other, less dire variations that won’t leave me homeless. I’m certainly not worried about it.” Fifi decides too much focus is on me and bumps her furry forehead to Grandma’s chin, causing her to change to stroking her whiskered cheeks. “All you’re doing is ruining today by borrowing trouble from tomorrow.”
That just frustrates me on multiple levels, similar to whenever anyone tells me to calm down. For one thing, if I prepare thoroughly enough, there shouldn’t be any trouble, and while I appreciate moments of levity in my whirlwind of a life, super chill people don’t always get shit done.
The year-long relationship with a man I ended up financially supporting proved as much.
