Yeah, that’s actually her name.
“Looks like a mess in there. How soon until the restaurant opens?” she asks, voice falsely high, like it makes her sound like less of an asshole that way.
“We open on the first,” I say dryly, wondering if she ignored the sign saying as much on the door right next to her, or if she just wanted to quiz me.
She hums a noise of disbelief, like we’ll never make it in time. I love when people try to shit on your goals instead of helping you meet them. It’s the kind of energy that makes me think we should try unplugging Earth and plugging it back in again.
I wouldn’t want to play charades with Karen, because apparently she can’t take a fucking hint, and she keeps asking dumb questions. “How’s the search for a chef going?”
Blowing out an exasperated breath—and some loose curls that are stuck to my sweaty face—I glance up at her, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “Really great, Karen. We hired four this week. Got ’em lined up around the block to start.”
I work to channel my frustrations into the flower box, but I’m probably severing the roots the way I’m using this little spade like a weapon right now.
Sorry, flowers. I’d swap with you if I could. Snap my neck and bury me beneath the dirt, and you talk to Karen. You’ve got the better end of the deal down there, really.
“I was just asking.” One hand on her diamond necklace, her eyes seem to zoom in on the mess I am in front of her.
She pats at her hair with her other hand, like the two cans of hairspray she probably used on it this morning could allow for a rogue strand, probably scared that my disaster is contagious.
“How about you, dear? What’s new with the eldest Weiss daughter? Still single?”
Oh, that’s it.
I drop the trowel with a clatter to the pavement and sit back on my heels, facing her and giving herallof my attention now.
“We’re overdue for a catch up,” I say, resting my hands on my overall-clad thighs. “How’s your husband? Did he get to see the neurologist yet?”
She blinks rapidly, snapping her head back. “What do you mean? He didn’t have an appointment with a neurologist.”
“No? I thought he was getting his balance checked out. He seems to trip and fall into other people’s beds an awful lot.”
Even fifty-plus years of Southern manners isn’t enough to keep the rage from clouding over her eyes, darkening her features. “Excuse me!” Karen manages to sound indignant, likeI strolled up to her and started poking at her most tender insecurities, not the other way around.
I shrug, keeping my tone helpful when I add, “While he’s there, maybe they can refer him to an optometrist and he can get that wandering eye checked out too. If only there was a doctor that could help with his vile personality, you’d be set.”
Karen bristles, holding her purse closer to her middle and looking over my shoulder, planning her escape route. “Where have your manners gone, young lady?” she chastises me. “You are downright uncouth. Your mother would be ashamed.”
Oh, hell no.
I crack my knuckles and my neck before I respond. “I’m almost forty years old. My mother finished raising me alongtime ago. And one of the things she taught me was not to put up with other people’s horse shit.”
“I was just making small talk, Alexis. No need to verbally assault me over it.”
Giving her a sugar-drenched, venomous smile, I say, “This is barely a warmup, my gal. Call this a three out of ten. But, hey, while we’re on the subject of manners, I’ve got a suggestion there. Maybe don’t dump your crusty misogynistic expectations on me or chalk up my worth to whether or not I have a partner.”
In the beat of silence that hangs in the humid air, I blink at her in quick flutters, and she shudders.
I take that as a sign to go on. “I’d rather be single forever than with someone who doesn’t both respect me and make my life better with him than it was without him. Let’s bet your next therapy bill that I’m happier on my own than you are in your marriage, what d'ya say?”
Pulling herself as tall as she can manage, quivering chin tilted high, Karen says, “I’ll be telling everyone how rude the new restaurant staff are.”
“Please do. While you’re at it, in the name of honesty, maybe tell them since your husband can’t do the job, you get off by making others feel like shit, and we don’t put up with that here.”
With a harrumph, she starts walking away, but she calls over her shoulder, “I won’t be giving you one dollar of my business.”
“Good! We have a firm no assholes policy, you wouldn’t make it past the door. Oh, and if I see your husband checking out my ass one more time when he walks by the restaurant, I’ll make sure to drop hot coffee on his shrimp dick.”
With an affronted gasp, she quickens her pace, like if she’s far enough away, no one else will be able to hear the truths I’m hollering her way.
