I launch myself in his arms and kiss across his cheeks and stubbled chin. “Well, when you say it like that, how could I ever say no?”
Chapter 15
LINDSAY
The interview is a breeze, and just as Camilla suspected, Jules aces the entrance exam. She gets placed with the freshmen and won’t stop talking about how cool the layout of the school is when we’re back in Boston. It’s the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and while everyone else seems to be existing in the liminal space of time when nothing matters, I’m up to my tits in revisions for my deck. My boss didn’t hold back on his criticisms, and going through his notes on seventy-five percent of the slides is taking forever.
“Did you see the terrarium in the science lab?” she asks for the twentieth time as she dances through the kitchen. “They have vampire crabs and regal jumping spiders!”
“And you are expressly forbidden from bringing either of them home, do you hear me?” I don’t even want to know what they look like. Ick. “I don’t care if it’s for an assignment that’s fifty percent of your grade. They are not welcome in my house.”
“So we’re moving, right? When do we get to start looking at houses?”
It’s an excellent question, and one that I haven’t taken the time to figure out. I still have to ask my boss if I can switch toremote work. My parents have no idea I’m even considering this, and I need to pull Jules out of her current school and have her transcripts sent to Mapletown high. I’m sure there was a more efficient order to do this in, but as expected, that’s not the path I’m following.
“I’ll figure that out tonight, okay?”
“Okie doke.” She grabs a sparkling water from the fridge and skips back to her room.
The following forty-eight hours become an exercise in not losing my shit. I’m on my third round of revisions for this godforsaken presentation, and for some reason, my boss thinks there’s more to be done.
I’m getting emails at all hours of the day from him. Just quick, one-line emails containing feedback at whatever moment it hits him.
Things like, “We should include more case studies here. This isn’t enough.” “We don’t need your opinion on this, we need facts,” and, my favorite, “Please fix,” next to a screenshot of whichever slide he’s looking at.
Oh, fix what, you ask? No idea, because he doesn’t elaborate.
I have a separate email minimized on my computer requesting to work remotely. Even though quitting altogether would be way more fun, I can’t bring myself to do it. The idea of waking up without knowing where my rent or mortgage payment is going to come from gives me hives. I’ve never lived on the edge like that, and I’m not sure it’s something I want to try at my age.
That’s why I’m hoping my boss reads my email, acknowledges that the benefits outweigh the drawbacks––for the company, that is––and it won’t change how available I make myself to my clients.
I take a break between revisions to look through the property listings Mayor Crane sent over. There are only sevenin Mapletown, but the ones available do look promising. Four of them are cookie-cutter condos in a bigger development behind the coffee place and the bookstore. There’s a two-bedroom apartment above the bookstore, which Jules might love, but the kitchen looks outdated for the price, and I don’t like how small the bedrooms are.
The other two are three-bedroom, single-family homes with vastly different styles, but look equally nice based on the asking price. One is an older three-story colonial with a wide screened-in porch, a backyard pool, and a detached garage. However, the inside looks like it needs a lot of work. The other is a newly renovated Tudor style with an attached garage, a large walk-in closet in the primary bedroom, and brand-new kitchen cabinets and appliances.
My top pick is the Tudor because I’m unable to see the charm in old homes. What I see when I look at a century-old house is lead paint, the likelihood of asbestos, and buckets filled with water from a soon-to-be leaky roof. I want none of that. Give me move-in ready and entirely up-to-code, please and thank you.
The condos all look the same, but have renovated interiors, so I make those my backup option, as I shoot off an email to the listing agent to see how soon we can come up and take a tour.
I wake up on New Year’s Eve with a belly full of dread as I open my email on my phone. There are seven emails from my boss requesting more changes. Seven. On New Year’s Eve. Though I won’t be in Mapletown, Nic and I have made plans to FaceTime as the ball drops. The bar is throwing a party, and though I wanted to attend, I just have too much going on with work at the moment.
Yesterday, I summoned the courage to send the email requesting my shift to remote work. No word from the boss yet.
I drop Jules off at my dad’s house for their New Year’s party in the early afternoon and promise to come back as soon as I can.She and Kayla have glowstick necklaces they plan to wear and sparklers they’re going to light at midnight in Dad’s backyard.
I go through the slides one by one and make the requested changes, then I haul my ass into the shower to get myself pretty for the coming of the new year. It’s when I’m applying my blush that my phone dings with three email notifications.
The first is from my boss about working remotely. It says, “I appreciate the thought that went into this request, and if we were still in Covid times, I’d be open to considering it. Unfortunately, I fear the long-distance drive to and from your clients will be more of a hindrance than you’ve realized. Long commutes can weigh on a person, and I need you giving your best to your clients. It’s a no at this time, but feel free to follow up in six months to reevaluate.”
The second email is also from my boss, regarding my deck changes. “I’m concerned you’re missing the core interests of their customers. Somehow, this is still way off-base and shoddy, given the revenue they’re about to bring in. Where is your head? They’re still within their sixty-day window to cancel their account with us. If I show them this presentation, I can almost guarantee they’ll take their business elsewhere. I’ve left my notes on the final four slides. When we return to the office, let’s sit down and discuss your current role with the company and if you truly see a future here.”
The third email is from the listing agent in Mapletown. It says, “Thanks so much for your interest in these properties. I’m available as early as nine a.m. on January 2, if you’d like a tour. If that’s too short notice, please note that my schedule is flexible, and if you have a date and time in mind, I can likely accommodate you.”
I sit at my vanity, processing the emails I just read. Clarity settles my muscles, and the decision is made so easily, I wonder why it took me this long. When I fantasized about this moment,I thought I’d be angrier, ready to stomp on a printer, slap one of the Jakes across the face, maybe even toss hot coffee all over one of my boss’s hideous ties. But no. I feel none of that right now.
I send my first response to the listing agent. “Let’s make it ten on January 2. Looking forward to it.”
The second email, I send to my boss in response to my deck changes. “Thank you for your feedback. This job means nothing to me. I quit. Happy New Year.” After I press send, I turn my phone on silent and put on my bad bitch blood-red lipstick, because that’s exactly what I am.
