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I want to see him. But when his real estate agent, Miranda, went on and on last night about Oliver wanting a home in Capri…I don’t know. It put things in perspective.
I can’t ask Oliver to give that up. Despite what he says about wanting to make things work long-term with me.
I’ve established that I can be on the dramatic side, right? So of course, I went there in my mind…Oliver and me, together forever. But that means he either gives up Capri, and maybe even his job with Tate International, or I give up my life in Longdale.
I can’t do that. My whole life is here. As frustrating as the patrons can be sometimes, I love them. I love Scott, antifreeze smell and all. And there’s Claire to think about.
I was nine when I promised my mom, as she was dying, that I’d take care of Claire. And I have. We still have the house—we still have each other. And the thought of leaving that all behind feels so wrong, even though sometimes lately, it weighs me down.
I push away the stack designs and get up from the table. Wilford has been begging from me for the last twenty minutes, even though he just ate a bowl full of food. He scoots his generous behind closer to me, a pretty picture of perfect obedience. He’s a good boy, but I won’t be fooled that he’s that good. “I can’t feed you vegetable ramen, Wilford,” I tell him for the last time, crunching the styrofoam cup into my overly full kitchen garbage can.
My phone rings and I see that it’s my grandma. Or it could be my grandpa. They still have their landline, so who knows? Sometimes I hand the phone over to Claire when they call because she’s far more adept at managing things. First of all, they’re nicer to her. And second of all, she usually lets their criticisms roll off her back much more easily than I do.
I answer the call because Claire’s out grocery shopping, which is why we ate cheap ramen. The pickings are slim around these parts.
“Hello?” My stomach rumbles and I wish I had hipster Drake to call up and bring me whatever I wanted.
“Sophie, it’s your grandmother.” This is how she’s begun every phone call I’ve gotten from her for as long as I can remember. Still as formal as ever.
“I’ve heard from Lisette Jordan,” she says. Lisette is one of the few people my grandma stayed in touch with after they moved back to Boulder once their duty to raise us girls was through. I could even say that Lisette is one of Grandma’s closest friends. But even they hug stiffly when they see each other.
“I haven’t seen her at the library in awhile. How’s she doing?”
“She’s concerned.”
Uh oh. My throat grows sore.
“She’s on several committees for Longdale Days and was telling me that you’ve not signed up to help any of the committees. That’s not like you, Sophie. Is everything alright?”
Let the shame-based games begin!
“Everything’s fine. I’m just really busy, Grandma.” But I’m not about to explain why I’ve been busy these days.
“Well, everyone’s busy, Sophie. But Longdale Days is coming up and I just don’t see how you don’t have a minute to spare to help out. At least with the children’s art festival or something. You’re so good with children.”
It could have been a compliment, but the undercurrent means it’s not. Usually when she tells me I’m good with children, the surrounding conversation has something to do with the fact that I haven’t had any yet.
“I’ll reach out to Lisette. I’m sure I can find time for a little job or two.” I don’t mind helping with something small. I’d been planning on it all along. I’ve just been gun shy at the thought of talking with anyone about Longdale Days. I didn’t want to end up having to run the entire carnival by the end of the conversation.
I trail my hand along the stack designs I’ve been creating. If she knew I was freelancing for the Tates, she’d freak.
“She also said something about the resort.” Her question-not-a-question hangs between us.
Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. Of course my grandma had heard about me working with the Tates. Why else would she call?
“Well, I was asked to help with the resort library and although it’s been problematic for us, it’s there and we can’t fight it anymore. I figured the least I could do was make sure their library wasn’t a complete disgrace.” I scrunch up my nose and hold my breath, hoping she’ll be satisfied and drop the line of questioning.
“Help with the resort library?” Her voice is filled with disdain. “What kind of flimsy excuse is that? Throw a bunch of books on some shelves. Why do they need you?”
“They want it to be nice. Professional.” My voice croaks.
“I don’t see how you can even associate with them. They’ve been trouble since you were a teen.”
The wind has been kicked out of me. I massage the back of my neck. “Grandma, that incident with the canoes was totally harmless.” Oliver, some coworkers, and I may have borrowed the neighbor’s canoes and gone out for a midnight jaunt on the lake the summer before senior year. We may have gotten caught returning them three hours later—unharmed and good as new, I might add. Even the neighbors forgave us, eventually. But my grandparents can’t seem to do the same.
“Sophie,” Grandma says. “You know how their actions have affected us financially, too. I just hoped you’d have more sense, more courtesy, than toworkfor them.”
“They had the winning bid. And I know that was hard.” A rush of confusion sweeps over me. I live my life and they live theirs. But if they’re still blaming the Tates for their company’s struggles, how will they ever feel okay about Oliver and me?
