The woman tilted her head and extended her hand. “My name is Thérèse. Would you like a cappuccino?”
Would she like?Phoebe scurried after Thérèse like a lamb to slaughter.
An hour, thirty minutes, and two cappuccinos later, Phoebe was sated. Thérèse had skipped right over granite and gone straight for her jugular with gorgeous samples of hazy graymarble. Rob had already weighed in on marble: Too porous. Too pricey. Too easily stained. Well, now she had three squares to bring home and show him.
In addition, Thérèse had steered Phoebe away from the traditional subway tile they’d had in mind and suggested a crackled glaze. “Much more textural interest.”
Phoebe nodded. Indeed.
“What you also need to think about is finishes. Since you’re going for more of a contemporary farmhouse kitchen, I’d suggest more stainless steel.”
This time Phoebe hesitated. Was contemporary what she was going for? No, they’d decided on a more rustic look. The cottage was lakeside, after all. And her family was… well, messy. An image of a thousand grimy fingerprints flashed in her mind. Followed by an image of her on her knees with a bottle of stainless steel spray and a rag. But before she could protest, Thérèse thrust a brochure across the table.
“This is my recommendation. Make your kitchen island a centerpiece. We just love this Amish company who does stainless steel island tops.”
Phoebe blinked. “Oh, okay.” The Amish had gone contemporary? When had that happened?
“But of course, that all depends on appliances. Have you chosen them yet?” Thérèse indicated the display behind her, where a sixty-inch Viking dual fuel oven rested in the center like a sphinx. A behemoth appliance with an even larger price tag. Rob would die. “Of course, I also recommend Wolf. If you’d prefer.”
What Phoebe would prefer, she suddenly realized, was to get out of there. In mere discussion alone, she’d likely amassed a financial tally that toppled the entire house renovation budget. And Thérèse hadn’t even gotten her out of the kitchen yet.
“Um, no. We haven’t. Yet.” She glanced at her watch. The boys! She had thirty minutes to drive the forty minutes to the preschool. As overcaffeinated as she was over budget, Phoebe leapt up. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m late to pick up my kids.”
The serene stretch of Thérèse’s forehead wrinkled, but only for a second. “Of course. Let me print out your cost estimate sheet, and we’ll set up a time to reconvene.” With a few quick clicks on her laptop, a gentle hum from a nearby printer alerted Phoebe to the incoming assessment of damage. Thérèse disappeared around a corner and returned with a stapled sheaf of papers. Phoebe tucked it in her purse, but not before she glanced at the bottom line.Sixty-eight thousand dollars.
“Of course, this is for floor, counter, and backsplash finishes only. We’ll have to reconvene to make appliance selections.” She nodded at the amassed pile of samples between them. “Can I help you carry these out?”
Phoebe balked. To take these samples meant she had to come back.Reconvene, as Thérèse said. The thought of which was almost as dreadful as showing all of this to Rob.
This had been a terrible mistake. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, reminding her she had to go. And that she hadn’t taken one damn photo for her “idea board.” “I so appreciate your help, this has been very inspiring. But I’d like to take a day or two and think about what we discussed, first.” She stood.
Thérèse looked stricken. Phoebe didn’t blame her; she’d spent almost two hours with her and the woman probably worked on commission. “But what about your samples?”
“They’re all lovely. Like you!” Phoebe forced a smile. Too far, that last comment. “But I’m late, so I’ll call to set up another time.”
She swept her purse over her shoulder and offered Thérèse a harried wave before making her escape. Alone, without hersamples, she dashed through the maze of display kitchens, a faint sweat of relief breaking out on her forehead. Back through the contemporary, on past the farmhouse and the industrial, halting only briefly to run her hands a final time over the cool gray surface of the Calcutta. It was cold to the touch. Like the look her husband would give her when she shared the cost estimate sheet with him.
Shuddering, Phoebe hurried out of the marble oasis and for the front door, still clutching the bumblebee tile against her chest. Before hurtling through the door into the heat of the day, she had a final thought: Wherewasthat tinkling waterfall sound coming from?
After the wasted trip to Fairfield Designs, Phoebe realized she needed to set some boundaries when interacting with tradespeople and salespeople. “It’s all business,” Rob reminded her. “Salespeople will try to distract you and sell you more than what you need. It’s their job.” But the boundaries also applied to herself. The possibilities of any given choice were endless. Take tile: Stone or ceramic? Glass or porcelain? Traditional or contemporary? God help her when it came to patterns, sizes, colors. She spent hours on Pinterest, Houzz, and building sites. Eyes glazed over, she’d stumble into bed past midnight, her brain awash with blue light and the noise of a thousand different options, not one of which she’d decided on. Rob, due to the frustrating mix of his easygoing nature and unavailability, deferred to her. Which was no help at all. “Look at it this way,” her friend Anna Beth said. “You like to be in charge. This way you don’t have to compromise.”
She was right. But Phoebe would’ve welcomed some input. At this rate it could take her years to design one kitchen backsplash,let alone a floor plan for the entire first floor. The renovation was not even halfway complete, and each day there were more decisions to tackle. Moving forward, she’d have to limit herself if there was any hope of managing the decisions coming her way.
When the electrical bids came in later that week, Phoebe was determined to get it right. She would not repeat the Fairfield Designs field trip disaster.
Dave steered her toward John Glazer, who ran a second-generation family electric business. He was about her age, handsome, and rather shy, but within mere minutes Phoebe had gleaned that she knew his wife from a Mommy and Me music class. When she asked after his youngest child, John warmed up immediately.
Phoebe trailed him through the house nodding and listening as he explained lighting choices. He advised that she only do a few can lights in the kitchen, as they were the most costly. Before leaving, they reviewed the time frame and budget.
“How much do we have to work with?” John asked. Phoebe liked that he turned to her, not Dave, as many of the other subs seemed to do.
She referred to her notes. “Ten thousand,” she told him.
John raised his eyebrows. “Wow. For fixtures? That’s healthy.”
Phoebe was ecstatic to hear this. She’d only done a little research on fixtures so far, but that amount should stretch far and wide. She might even have something left over to put into the kitchen.
“Let me clarify. I mean including labor,” Dave added. He turned to her. “Which only leaves about three thousand for fixtures.”
