“I’m inquiring about the billboard located on the boardwalk,” I had said, using my most professional voice.
She then dropped the price bomb on me, and she said it like it was nothing. Like people spend several thousand dollars a day on a freaking sign overlooking the city. Shell-shocked, I’d politely thanked her and said I’d call back afterspeaking with marketing. I thought pretending to have a marketing department would make me sound like less of an idiot, but it probably didn’t.
That’s when I met Jack Brown in the flesh.
“Hi there,” he’d said, his voice booming and masculine as he sat on the other end of my bench without an invitation. “You’re Marlene’s daughter, right?”
Jack Brown is tall with silvery white hair that always looks like it just got a fresh haircut. He has a sharp jawline and wears tailored business suits, and although that kind of thing is totallynotmy thing, (and he’s in his forties so gross), many women find him very attractive.
“Yes,” I said, eying him suspiciously. I knew exactly who he was, even before he extended his hand and introduced himself. He was Jack Brown. He had billboards of his own with his face on them. I wondered how much he paid for them.
Jack Brown sold real estate for a long time when I was younger. It was one of those names you’d see on For Sale signs all over the city. Then he moved to billboards with his smiling mug on it, and even some cars drove around town wrapped in the advertisement for his real estate company. Now, I think he just does businesses instead of selling houses. Any time a construction crew decides to tear down a piece of land and build something on it, it usually has Jack Brown’s company logo.
I was not very happy to see him there on my bench.
In December, the store got a phone call with Jack Brown’s company name showing up on the caller ID. I ignored the call, and then after he’d left a voicemail, I listened to it just long enough to delete it. It said something along the lines of wanting to talk about a possible buy out.
Um, not happening.
So when he met me on the boardwalk that day, I had a pretty good idea why he’d bothered to stop and introduce himself.
“How’s the store?” he’d asked.
“Perfect,” I said, plastering on a fake smile. “I really love working there.”
“That’s wonderful. I was actually hoping to have a moment to speak with your mother, but I haven’t been able to get through when I call. Is there a good time to reach her?”
That’s when I lied. I told him she was incredibly busy lately because we’re considering opening a second store since our store is doing so well, and that Mom was often out scouting locations and too busy to work at our current store.
I don’t know if he bought my pathetic lie or not, but he wished me well and then said he’d stop by soon to buy a gift for his wife.
So far I haven’t seen him, which is a relief because Mom actually is at the store all day. Usually it’s just her alone because I have this stupid annoyance called school that I try to attend whenever I can. The last couple of months have been kind of bad in that regard—I skipped most of December to help with the Christmas rush, and lately I seem to stay at the store once or twice a week. Like today, for example. Mom woke up with a migraine, so I offered to open the store until she felt better. When she finally came in around eleven, it would have been lunch time at school, so I just stayed at the store. And then I didn’t feel like going after all. Senior year is kind of a waste anyway. We do stuff for half of the year and then after the holidays, teachers are lazy and just ready for it to be over. I’m not missing much, and the store needs me more than school does.
I reach the Longwood neighborhood and know I’m about halfway home. It’s been twenty five minutes even though it feels like I’m walking quicker than usual. On a good day, it takes around forty-five minutes to get home. Today must not be a good day.
The only good thing is that now I’m so cold my body has kind of accepted it, and there’s a numbness to my face that has stopped my shivering. As soon as I get home, I’ll take the hottest shower our water heater can provide.
As much as I try not to think about Jack Brown, now he’s invaded my thoughts and caused a knot of anxiety to settle in my stomach. Just after Valentine’s Day, Jack called the store again. It was a Monday, but I was skipping school to work on the store’s website, so I managed to get to his voicemail before my mom did.
He was much more open about his intentions this time. He offered eight thousand dollars for the store.
Anger boiled in my veins. Eight thousand dollars? That’s nothing. It definitely wasn’t enough money to keep us afloat until Mom found a job, which is what she’d have to do if the store closed. If he wants to offer a hundred thousand or so, then we could talk. But even then, I’m still not ready to let this store go. It’s my life. It’s been here since I was a baby, and I want to own it when I’m an adult. Jack Brown can piss off.
I’m still gritting my teeth by the time I see my house in the distance. Our house is two stories, narrow and long, the white paint now weathered. A shotgun style house that’s just like all the others on this side of town. Our neighbors are just five feet away, and our backyard is so tiny there’s no way we could ever have a dog because we’d be picking up poop for eternity.
But it’s home. And it’s the one thing the failing store can’t take from us. Mom and my asshole ex of a step dad bought it in cash when they got married. They’d both inherited some money from relatives and didn’t want to have a mortgage. After the divorce, he let us have the house free and clear, which was nice. The Magpie earns just enough money each month to pay the rent at the store and to keep our lights on and put food on the table. One of these days, I’ll make sure we’re earning enough to have a great life.
Right now, I just want to warm up. It’s probably a combination of being pissed about the store and being cold as hell, but now my teeth hurt. I rub at my jaw as I let myself inside. Warmth envelops me, instantly making me feel better. There’s a faint smell of spaghetti in the air and it makes my mouth water.
I venture into the kitchen, excited to tell Mom about my big sale, but she’s not in here. There’s leftover spaghetti and garlic bread on the stove, so I make a plate and then peek into the living room.
“Mom?”
She’s not there either, so I call up the stairs. “Mom!”
Her door swings open, the floor creaking as she walks out and peers down the stairs at me. “There’s food on the stove,” she says. Her hair is messy and she’s wearing a nightgown. I glance at my watch. It’s almost eight, but she looks like she’s been asleep. “I already got food,” I say, holding up my plate. “Want to come watch TV with me?”
She shakes her head. “I’m tired, Natalie.”
