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19
Stella
Today still has at least one more challenge in store for me as I find Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick by the reception desk with their weekend bags about an hour later. Noah and Isaac are out on business, and since the concierge is busy escorting other guests to their rooms, I’m tasked with escorting the Kendricks up to the top floor, where they have booked a penthouse.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick,” I say, struggling to smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Good morning…” Mrs. Kendrick pauses to read my name tag. “Stella. What a pretty name.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I reply. “Can I take your bags?”
They’re not big but they are heavy enough to have me short of breath by the time we reach the bottom of the steps. I’ve been feeling more and more fatigued, and I know I cannot keep it up for much longer. Soon enough, even the maid’s regular duties will become burdensome and increasingly difficult to perform. It’ll cost me my job. No matter how I look at it, what lies ahead will change my life, and as much as I try to convince myself it’s for the better, I’m not so sure. The guilt of such thoughts makes it harder for me to push through.
“You’re too kind,” Mrs. Kendrick says when we stop outside their room. “This should’ve been the concierge’s responsibility.”
“It usually is, ma’am, but we have so many new arrivals coming in at once that he is simply overwhelmed,” I reply.
She shrugs slightly. “Nevertheless, the maid has enough on her plate as it is. My sons should get another concierge for the busier times of the week.”
“Now, darling, remember what we discussed. You don’t want to get involved in their business. The boys need to figure certain things out on their own,” Mr. Kendrick lovingly reminds her.
“Even so, I’m still going to make a suggestion. Look at the poor girl,” Mrs. Kendrick replies.
I laugh nervously. “Please, don’t worry about me, I’m okay. It’s my pleasure to help you.”
“How long have you been at the Elizabeth?” Mr. Kendrick asks me, the room key lost somewhere in the deep pockets of his khaki slacks. “You’re relatively new, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes. Almost three months, sir,” I reply.
“And how do you like it?”
“Oh, I love it. It’s a great place with good people on the team. The management are all wonderful,” I say with a warm smile. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Mr. Kendrick says.
“Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?” Mrs. Kendrick asks, and I know she doesn’t mean it in a derogatory manner, but I still feel the sting somewhere deep in my stomach.
I shake my head slowly. “It’s a stepping stone, more or less. A good place to start.”
“You have children, right? Noah mentioned something,” she says.
“Yes. Lucas and Ava. They’re my world.”
“That I can relate to,” she chuckles. “Must be hard for you. A single mother of two, cleaning hotel rooms. I was getting my master’s degree when I was your age. I hadn’t even met the man of my dreams yet,” she adds, fawning at her husband.
Mr. Kendrick scoffs. “Honey, not everyone has the same opportunities as you and me. We were lucky and privileged.”
“That’s true. I’m glad my boys are equally lucky and privileged, otherwise, I shudder to think what kind of lives they would’ve had.”
“If that will be all?” I cut in politely, holding back tears as I leave the luggage by the door.
Mr. Kendrick slips a fifty-dollar bill in my pocket. “Thank you very much, Stella.”
“You are most welcome. Enjoy your stay,” I say and quickly walk away just as the first of a deluge of tears make their way out. Sniffling, I rush along the hallway and hide in the first empty room I can find.
The pain of staring my own past right in the face, the bitterness of a reality I can no longer ignore, washes through me. I’ve got two kids from a failed marriage and zero prospects for my future. I believed in fairy tales while the crushing reality fragmented me, piece by piece, over the years.
Though it was said with a benevolent tone, I understood what the Kendricks were saying. They were privileged, I was not. They would never welcome someone like me into their prestigious family. They’re rich and prominent, successful members of the elite. Why would they ever accept me when they have those prissy socialites lined up to marry their sons and produce future generations of American royalty? It was a silly idea, a stupid dream I never should’ve considered.
