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ChapterOne
Kent Beaufoy
“Marla, you’re going to be late for school!” I shout to my youngest sister as I pull my work boots on. I have five younger sisters that I’ve raised for the last ten years. I was twenty when my parents died in an accident where they were hit by a drunk driver. Marla was in the car with them. She had six broken bones and is scarred inside and out from that night. My sisters still live in the home I bought back when I had no business buying more than a fucking loaf of bread. My sisters are my life. Everything I did was for them. There was no way in hell our family was being split up. The twins, Tasha and Marsha, are now twenty; Alisha is nineteen; Portia is eighteen; Marla is sixteen and the only one still in high school; At twenty-three, I was two years out of college and still living at home. I always knew I wanted to own my construction business, but that hasn’t happened so far. I had a Bachelor of Science in Construction Management from LSU but hadn’t found a job yet. All that changed quickly, especially once Marla was released from the hospital. Once upon a time, we lived in a huge house in the good part of town. Hurricane Katrina destroyed it, and their homeowner's insurance didn’t cover everything. So they downsized and moved us all across town. My parents rented the house we lived in, and the property manager said the leaseholder had to be older than twenty-five, so I went on the hunt for a house that would accommodate us all for years. Buying was my only option because New Orleans is a party town. Everywhere I looked for a rental, it was twenty-five and up. Desperate, I applied for a mortgage and got it, but it was at ten percent interest, well above the national average of four percent at the time. Beggars can’t be choosers. I will be paying this house off until I die. I know that. My parents had managed to save up about twenty-five thousand dollars which was in their savings account that went to me, but they had about six thousand in their checking account. Their life insurance payouts paid for the funeral and left me about a thousand dollars. I used the twenty-five for the down payment on a house. However, looking back, I realize that without their hard-earned savings, I would have lost custody of my sisters. It was all on me until two years ago. I didn’t mind the hard work. Then Tasha turned eighteen and started working at that time, right when she first started college. She told me she was waitressing, but a buddy of mine told me the truth. I made her stop when I realized she was stripping. She forked over her tips for bills; I couldn’t have that, especially after she told me she hated the way her customers treated her. She liked the dancing and the money, but what kind of brother would I be if I let her continue doing something that made her feel awful? I figured out how to get food stamps real quick as well as any other government assistance I could; as soon as I was able, I got off all that, and we’ve thrived as a family. I finally found a job in my chosen field, and I’ve been there for nine years now. My specialty is welding but specifically underwater welding.
The great thing about my job is that my jobs get sent to me via text. I show up at various construction sites in Baton Rouge, New Orleans, and anywhere between the two cities. I rarely have reason to go into the offices of the Baker Brothers Construction company, which are in Baton Rouge, but I know I have to sometime this week. I need to fill out several forms for my insurance, but today won’t be that day. I have to be at four different sites by six tonight. At least they are all in New Orleans.
“Stop yelling at me,” Marla says, coming into the living room, plopping down next to me, and grabbing her chosen shoes for the day. We don’t wear shoes in the house; it cuts down on how often we need to mop, which is something we all hate doing. I designed most of the furniture in the house, including the shoe bench we’re sitting on by the front door. I learned to be frugal; the only large purchase I’ve made besides the house was two used Hondas Accords for Marsha and Alisha. I drive my dad’s truck which was brand new in 2013, so it’s still going strong. My mom’s car was the one totaled in the accident that claimed their lives, so the insurance company replaced it with a model year newer, so it’s a 2010 Honda Accord that Tasha drives. Right now, Portia hates to drive, though she can and does when necessary. She mostly catches rides with her sisters or her boyfriend. I’m afraid Marla will never drive. She can barely tolerate being a passenger in a car, let alone driving one.
“I’m not yellingatyou,ma petite soeur,I was just getting your attention.”
“You’re dropping me off today?” she asks as she wraps the straps of her sandals up her calf. It’s close to the end of the school year, and she doesn’t have to wear her uniform to school for the last two weeks. She goes to a public school, but they implemented uniforms two years ago when one of the girls thought a miniskirt and no underwear was appropriate to wear to class. It was an extra expense I didn’t need at the time, but it saved me two years' worth of back-to-school name-brand clothes from the mall.
“Yes. Alisha had an early class.” Since we’re legacies at LSU, she was able to get a scholarship. She’s studying childhood education so that she can be a teacher. Both of our parents and I graduated from there. Tasha, Marsha, and Alisha currently attend. I assume Marla will also go there if she’s even going to college. All she thinks about is fashion and going to Hollywood. I might be selfish, but I hope she changes her mind. I don’t want her to go that far away, though I know it’s a natural part of growing up. I hate to admit this, but she’s my favorite sister. She needed me the most as she was growing up.
“Great, thank you. Let’s go, though. I want to get a beignet on the way, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. I could use another cup of coffee,” I tell her as we leave the house and lock the door behind us.
Now that my sisters are either grown or practically grown, I’ve been thinking more and more about settling down. The last date I went on was the homecoming dance during my senior year in high school. I was the fullback on the football team. My date was a little bitch, though. She ruined my night as well as most of my friend's nights. She had been fucking the principal of the school for almost four years, so definitely back when she was underage. She found herself pregnant and was looking to dupe any guy in the senior class to fuck her so she could pass the baby off as his. I turned her down flat because I wasn’t losing my virginity to her. No way in hell. She got pissed and proceed to proposition everyone around us. When no one took the bait, she freaked the fuck out and told on herself and Principal Smithers. He was a young principal, maybe thirty at the time. Old enough to know better, though, they both were. It was sad but hilarious. Last I heard, they got married, him not even knowing she was pregnant until that night. I eventually got rid of that pesky virginity in college, and I’ve had a few girlfriends since then, but nothing serious. None of them wanted anything to do with my raising five sisters. Good riddance.
After leaving the famous Beignet bakery, I drive to Marla’s school and park in front of it. “Alisha will pick you up after band practice. Have a good day,ma petite soeur,”I tell her.
“You could just call me Marla, ya know?” she says as she leans over to kiss my cheek.
“I could, but I won’t,” I reply, chuckling. She laughs, grabs her bag, her coffee, and her bag of beignets, and gets out, slamming the door behind her.
I’m still chuckling as I drive away. I could definitely stand to raise a couple more kids with the woman of my dreams beside me.
Whoever she is.
ChapterTwo
Belle Fisher
Growing up, I had the best examples of everything. Love, family, and work ethic. My parents, Kellen and Annika, were neighbors growing up in our tiny town, Pine Grove, a few minutes outside of Baton Rouge. They fell in love with each other years before they made it known. My aunt and uncle Clyde and Kerry also provided the best examples. My mom and Uncle Clyde are brother and sister, as are my dad and Aunt Kerry. They grew up in a house directly across the street from each other on a dead-end street. The same street we live on now. Both sets of my grandparents still live at the dead end. Clyde and Kerry live in the only other house on the street across from us. My dad and Clyde were best friends, and my mom and Kerry were. Each couple’s love is pretty epic, and I had to witness the public displays of affection that would shame most people. That’s what I want. I want to embarrass my future children like my parents did and still do to this day. It’s gross but in an adorable way. Love wasn’t a hidden topic in our family. It’s no wonder that’s what I’ve been waiting for. Most girls my age are out there dating and sleeping their way through their twenties, but that’s not me.
I want to be so in love that I don’t have any idea what’s going on around me. I want to be so in love that my kids, while I’ll love them and kill for them if need be, are second thoughts to my husband, as fucked up as that sounds. I want to be so destroyed by a man that only he can put me back together. I want that to be consumed. I want to be devoured. I want to be owned. Okay, Okay, I may be reading too many smut-tastic books, but I can’t help it. I want what I want.
While I wait for that, though, I’ve got to work, so I don’t drive myself crazy. I expect to work after I meet the man of my dreams as well. I won’t be a kept woman like that. I want a partner in this life and the next. I’ve got to stop watchingLord of the Rings…
There are a million things I could be doing for The Fisher Group, my parent's company, but I don’t want to do that. I want to strike out on my own and do something for myself… no matter what the future holds for me, it's important to me that I don’t ride my parent’s coattails forever.
My dad is a big-time chef, while my mom is the quintessential stay-at-home mom. She raised my older brothers, Daniel, Jason, and me while helping my dad start his restaurant empire. Daniel and Jason are helping with that. I should be too, but running a group of restaurants isn’t all that appealing to me. Fashion, specifically designing size-inclusive lingerie, is what I want to be doing. I’m forever drawing my ideas on whatever I can get my hands on; napkins, paper towels, and menus mostly. I know I should go to college and learn how to make this happen, but I barely made it through high school. The thought of going through another four years of schooling makes me physically ill.
Why can’t there be a magic genie on standby ready to grant me my wishes? I only want these two things. I swear I’d use the third one for world peace.
“Belle Fisher?” a man calls my name, and I look up from my Kindle. I’ve been waiting for this job interview for about an hour now. My dad knows the owner, Mr. Baker. He did the renovation on Dad’s latest restaurant Annika, named after my mom.
“Yes. Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Baker.” I shake his outstretched hand.
“Of course, but please call me Jonathan. Your father is our best client.”
“I’m sure he keeps you busy,” I say, laughing along with him.
“For sure, come on in. Dana, would you grab me a coffee when you have a second? Would you like something, Belle?”
“No, thank you,” I say, anxious to get this show on the road.
