Chapter 15 Pippa
PIPPA
I’d like to say I make a seamless transition returning home and getting back to work. Instead, it’s like I’m walking through a fog. To say I’m preoccupied is an understatement. It starts with me pouring a carton of egg whites into my tea.
After making a new cup, even though I have some caffeine in me, I shower while still in my pajama top.
Then, I lose my phone in my bedroom. It’s a small space and there are only so many places it could be, considering I have a black and white houndstooth case with a giant rhinestone and pearl bowknot pop socket attached to it.
We’re not talking needle-in-a-haystack lost. The thing can probably be seen from outer space.
But what do I do when there’s no one here to call it for me so I can find it? I do well on my own and prefer my own company most of the time, but loneliness whispers close and I don’t like the way it makes me feel chilly on the inside.
But who could understand my need for time alone? That I need to recharge with quiet activities like reading, candle making, and my favorite shows? Certainly not the person my mother suggested I marry.
Chase is outrageously outgoing. He thrives in a stadium, surrounded by thousands of fans. Being around loads of people is a cakewalk for him. Okay, bad example.
While applying my eye makeup, I pause on a moment we shared when he looked at me, unlike anyone else ever has. Like he saw me and liked it.
But who am I fooling? It’s not necessarily that my crush is out of my league, out of reach, or even out of bounds.
More that he’s outgoing. And I’m not. I need to find someone who matches my energy.
Then again, Chase doesn’t drain it. While we were dancing, I felt like we could’ve continued for hours.
When talking, I could listen to him for days.
I realize I’ve been rubbing the blush brush on my cheek for a full two minutes. And now I look like one of those ceramic dolls with red circles for cheeks. But in this instance, the factory machine malfunctioned and only got one side.
“Get it together, Pippa.”
Shaking off my haze, I slip on a camel-colored pair of stovepipe pants, a black quarter-sleeve cashmere sweater, and finish the outfit with a sassy pair of leopard print heels that I rarely wear because my weird luck means I risk turning an ankle or snapping off the heel.
Do I dare step outside?
But maybe I feel a call to the wild today, so why not go for it? Or it could be that I just have a certain “Lion” on my mind.
I take extra care with the curling wand—because hello, hot iron or whatever it’s made out of—adding little waves to my otherwise straight brown hair.
Mum taught me never to leave home without my hair and face.
The concept took me a few years to wrap my head around because that’s simply not possible.
But now I understand she meant hair and makeup.
Cate at Blancbourg would accept nothing less.
But getting the curl on the left side by my ear to fall just so means I’m officially running late.
..and have to douse myself in perfume so I don’t smell like burnt hair.
Foregoing my phone and gathering my bag off the hook by the door, a steady bzzt comes from behind me. Kicking off my heels, I stumble as I tear the pillows off my bed, searching for my mobile until I find it inside a linen throw pillow with a ruffly light pink heart on it.
Yes, I’m a romantic inside and out. Phoebe says I wear my heart on my sleeve. Knowing me, that’s a dangerous endeavor.
My décor style is one part shabby chic, that’s a blend of vintage finds, worn wood, and soft fabrics, one part classic elegance with thanks to Mum’s influence, and part Pippa—that’s what my sister says, anyway.
I had the option to live at the Blancbourg Academy d’Etiquette, which is an old manor that had once been part of the royal Concordian estate. But I prefer having my apartment here in the village.
When I moved here, Gemma and Cate were roomies, then she got the headmistress job at Blancbourg, leaving a spot open.
Then Gemma got married and moved out. I opted to stay because, in a way, it felt like I lived with a sister and because I’m secretly hoping to get Phoebe over here when she’s done with her graduate degree in digital forensic analysis.
Or get married. Whichever comes first.
I spiral right back to where I started the morning, in a fog bank, anytime Chase comes to mind, which is every hour on the hour.
Speaking of the time, I am going to be so late.
Okay, ten minutes, fifteen max if I stop at the bakery and get Cate and me each a drink and pastry.
I’m not trying to butter her up. If she hadn’t been Gemma’s roomie when we first met, I’d say that no amount of butter could penetrate that woman’s stony exterior.
But when she’s off the clock and lets her hair down, she can get silly with the rest of us.
Rather, I’m indulging in some of the best baked goods in the world. Concordia is known for its chocolate cake, which, regrettably I can’t have. But their pastries, cookies, and everything involving butter, sugar, and flour are top-notch.
Cate and I are friendly, but I think she’s somewhat cautious around me, considering that on my first day on the job, I arrived wearing two different colored shoes.
To be fair, I was trying to decide which looked better when I realized I was running late.
Thankfully, she didn’t insist I go home and not come back.
Each month, my parents offer to pay my rent and Dad even said he’d buy me a manor of my own, but I take pride in paying my way. I even have savings and a budget that I stick to each month.
Keys, phone, and purse in hand, I close then lock the door behind me. Something shifts in my peripheral vision and makes a sneezing sound. I startle.
“I’m going to getcha.” A man dressed in a dark brown jumpsuit uniform stalks along the edge of the hallway, holding a prybar and a slatted box with a handle.
Holding up my hands in surrender, I say, “Whatever it is, I don’t have it.”
The man straightens. His eyes are slightly glassy and his hair is disheveled. “That’s good to hear, Miss Thompson. I don’t know what you’d do if you did. Cry bloody murder?”
I tremble at the sight of the building custodian prowling along the hall like he’s gone mad. “Murder what?”
“It had poor Mrs. Madison across the hall here up half the night with worry.” He sneezes.
My hands lower a fraction as I realize Cecil isn’t going to strike me with the prybar.
“I’ve been on the search for hours, even in the heating ducts. That messed with the sinuses. I haven’t stopped sneezing. And it’s hot in there with the way Edith Harlin in 2A keeps the heat cranked all year. Says she’s cold in her bones.” He shakes his head.
“What are you looking for?”
“The problem is Petunia Radley in 1A called this morning and said her son’s pet lizard got loose.
Of course, Mrs. Madison finds out everything, so as soon as she caught wind, she insisted I find it right away or she’d call—I don’t know.
Animal control? The Ghostbusters? A lizard protection organization? ”
I almost laugh. “Well, that’s a relief. Guess I’m not too worried about a lizard.”
“Well, its name is Chompy the Swamp King, so we can’t be too careful.”
“Chompy the what?”
“It’s an alligator lizard.”
“There’s an alligator loose in the building?”
“Don’t worry, it’s still small. Maybe about six inches long and needs warmth, so keep a lookout.”
I blink a few times, afraid of what’ll happen in six months if Cecil doesn’t track it down.
“I’d better be on my—”
Before he finishes his sentence, my right contact pops out of my eye and hits him on the nose before disappearing onto the floor.
“Oh dear. I am so sorry,” I say with one eye closed.
“Miss, did your eye just come out of your head?” He scans the floor.
“No, just my contact and my ability to see. I’m legally blind in the other one.” Thankfully, that contact remains intact.
“We’d better find that quick.”
“No, don’t worry about it. You have your hands full.
I have another set of contacts inside and—” My phone beeps with a message.
Probably Cate wondering where I am. I’m only five minutes late.
I still have the customary ten-minute grace period before she can get too mad at my lack of punctuality.
A cardinal no-no in the world of etiquette and number three on my list of rules—respect people’s time and be punctual.
But we also know life happens and so long as tardiness is rare—as in once every twenty meetings—it’s acceptable. Yes, she’s that precise.
“No, no. We’ll find it. You need to see, especially if Chompy the Swamp King comes slithering around.”
“I thought you said it was a lizard.”
“This is why a young lady like you needs to find a husband.”
“Because a lizard doesn’t slither?”
He sneezes and then wipes his nose. “No, to protect you.”
“Oh. Well, I’ve been looking. What about older ladies like Mrs. Madison? Do they need husbands, too?”
“Well, that’s why she has me.” He winks.
I can’t help but wonder if there’s a little love connection going on in our four-unit building. There are two apartments on the ground floor and two above—occupied by Mrs. Madison and me, respectively.
As far as I know, only Petunia is married, but her husband is often away on business.
I dig in my purse as my phone beeps again. The caller’s number on the screen is a blur as I struggle to find my eyeglasses.
They’re smudged when I put them on, but the number comes into focus. It’s international and I don’t recognize it.
“I’d better be on my way. Good luck with Chompy the Swamp King.” I only hope Cecil returns it to its habitat before the end of the day.
Phoebe told me not to text and walk, and for once, I obey as I hurry across town to Blancbourg.
The scent of buttery pastry, raspberries, and pastry cream, or as Cate would call it in French, crème patissière, reminds me that I’m almost dizzy with hunger.