22. Morgan
Chapter 22
Morgan
A few days later Cara’s mum messaged to let me know that we were going to have to change tack on the sale. With how quickly properties in the area were selling, they’d expected to offload it by now, and they blamed my decor aesthetic for the lack of interest. Apparently this was backed up by listing engagement data from the estate agent, who would be coming around again in less than a week. And my to-do list from Cara’s mum to have done before then was unreasonably long:
Contain books to actual bookshelves only, no double-stacking (looks cluttered)
Remove all but one living room rug (keep the beige one)
Reduce cushions by half
Remove all stick-on kitchen items (backsplash, worktops, and floors)
Re-dress Cara’s bedroom with forthcoming supplies
Remove all string lights and LED lights from the second bedroom
Repaint front door (same colour, please)
Clear rear courtyard of all weeds and moss
I abstained from emailing her back to ask where I was meant to put all the stuff I had to remove, or to remind her that her daughter had purchased most of it. I also didn’t suggest, as much as I wanted to, that they were responsible for improvements; I wasn’t technically on a lease, and I wasn’t paying market rates, so I knew helping out was sort of assumed. Instead I did what I did best: ignored her message until the latest I could possibly leave it so that I could rely on the pressure of a deadline to motivate me.
I threw myself into my design project; Greg had loved the anvil idea I’d sent him, so I was refining it and trying out some different overlays for the text. I’d had to teach myself so much in order to design a logo – Could I use graphic brushes in the app I used without copyright infringement? What was the difference between a logo and a logotype? Not to mention the fact that I hadn’t worked with text design since uni – but I was loving every second. It was the first time I’d ever really challenged myself with my art, at least since I’d finished my degree. When I was designing, or drawing, or even just watching the YouTube videos I was learning from, I felt like the best version of myself. Like I could do anything. Make anything. It was a feeling I’d only ever got secondhand when playing D he just seemed happy to see me, which melted me and put me back together again all at once. I hung my dripping jacket and tote bag up on a hook, then sat down next to him and started playing. Only he seemed to want nothing to do with that, curling up in my lap instead.
“Oh, how cute!” Lauren said as she walked by. “There was a big group of school-age kids here earlier, so they must have tired him out.”
“That’s great,” I said. “Hey, can you hand me my bag?”
Lauren grabbed the tote bag when I pointed to it and handed it to me over the half wall. “Here you go.”
I thanked her, and then took advantage of the quiet moment to open up my tablet and work on the Game On! logo some more.
But then I noticed that Pablo was doing an adorable snarl as he slept, and after I took a video on my phone and sent it to Chloe, I decided to try to draw him. It was another new effort for me; most of what I’d drawn in the past had been more of a cartoon-style fantasy art. It took me a few minutes to figure out how I wanted to approach it, but once I did, I was actually quite pleased with how the picture was coming out. I was sketching fast, but it was a fairly minimalist illustration style, and it came together quickly once I knew what I wanted to do.
Once I’d finished his face, I decided to try drawing the sausage dogs that had been recently adopted, and then I moved on to the cat I’d had growing up, and then the otters Jack and I had seen when we were kayaking. That one was harder, and I had to look at a reference image, but I was happy with it by the time I was done. And by the end of my lunch break, I had a file full of almost a dozen animal faces, lined up like they were at a party. I’d even added little party hats on their heads to add to the effect.
That’s when the idea came to me.
I got up quickly, displacing Pablo, who gave me a very disgruntled, “how dare you” kind of glare.
“I’m so sorry Pabs,” I said. “But I’ve had an idea, and I need to go back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I practically sprinted through the rain back to the office, where I didn’t even stop at my desk before barging into Simone’s office, dripping all over her floor. I only realised what I must look like when she glanced up at me with a passable Miranda Priestly impression (read: unimpressed).
“I had an idea,” I said, quickly hiding the layer with the party hats, “but it’s a bit of a departure.”
“What’s that?” she asked, gesturing for me to sit down. I perched as far on the edge of the seat as possible, not wanting to get her chair wet.
“Well, like I told you earlier, we don’t have budget for the design agency,” I said. “And I already checked with the internal team, and their pipeline is packed. They wouldn’t get to us in time.”
Simone gave me an impatient look. “These sound like problems, not solutions.”
I took a deep breath, all the urgency and enthusiasm I’d felt before suddenly evaporating out of me. But I’d come this far, and it would be much more embarrassing to leave now without showing her what I’d done than for her to reject the idea. So I handed the tablet to her and watched as she squinted at it, pinching her fingers together and apart several times to see the drawings better.
“Tell me what I’m looking at here,” she said.
“They’re animals from the rescue,” I said. “Well, some of them. But I drew them. And I think we should use them for the gala. Give everyone a different animal. Use it on their place card, their name badge, their invite, all of it.”
Simone was quiet for a long moment before she spoke, and I had to remind myself to breathe. “It’s not exactly on theme.”
“Well, to be fair, without the signage, there really isn’t a theme. There will be bunting and lights, but that’s hardly a creative direction. So this would, I guess, inform the theme.”
She nodded as she considered this. Then she nodded some more, and considered some more. She was quiet long enough this time that I was sure she’d forgotten I was sitting there.
“There’s no way,” she finally said, and I felt myself deflate, sitting back in the chair, wet spots be damned.
“Oh,” I muttered. “Sorry, I just thought?—”
“You couldn’t possibly get this done on top of all your fundraising work. I’ll have to reassign your call list.”
I sat back up again. “You would do that?”
She handed me the tablet back. “Well, we can’t very well have no signage, can we? And no one else has brought me a better idea. So let’s try it.”
I smiled as I turned off the screen and stood. “Thank you, Simone.”
“But you have to promise me that you’ll tell me the moment you get stuck.”
“I promise,” I said, turning to leave.
“And Morgan?” she said as I reached the door. I stopped and turned back to her.
“Yes?”
“This is good,” she said. “Really good. Well done.”
* * *
I got home a few hours later and instantly collapsed on the sofa, breaking my “don’t sit down” rule. Now that my feet were up, I’d be unlikely to get anything productive done for the rest of the evening. And by the time I’d finished a takeaway that only required me to be standing for about twenty seconds whilst I opened the door, it was clear I wasn’t going to be tackling anything but my Watch Later playlist on YouTube.
Which was a problem, because I only had a few days until the new pictures were being taken, and I’d done exactly zero things from Cara’s mum’s list. I did have a large box from her that had arrived a couple of days ago, which I assumed was the “forthcoming supplies” for Cara’s room that she’d mentioned in her note. I’d yet to open the box.
I started making a mental schedule; I’d have to fit everything into just two days, including a trip to the shop to get some paint. It didn’t leave me much wiggle room for Monday’s slot with the estate agent. Really I needed to get myself going now so that I could gain a day, but the idea of that sounded horrible when all I wanted to do was be as cosy as possible.
Or maybe there was a way I could get it all done and stay put this evening…
No, bad idea , I told myself. I’d only just hung out with Jack over the weekend – this would be the shortest time yet between seeing each other, outside of Monday nights, anyway.
As I debated texting him, my eyes scanned the room, looking at everything I needed to do. I would probably have to donate a few books, which broke my heart, and it would be good to have a car, right? What if we needed supplies suddenly? I couldn’t walk to the big hardware store from here. And plus, he’d apparently built his whole house on his own. And he was an absolute nerd about plants; I didn’t even know what in the neglected back garden was plant and what was weed. He would certainly be useful…
My eyes landed on the book he’d bought me in Hay over the weekend, which stood propped up against the bookshelf. On paper, it was a pretty safe choice – we’d watched The Lord of the Rings together on the group weekend away, he knew I liked illustration, and my name was in the front of the book – but there was something about the idea of him combing the shelves for something I’d like, actually taking the time to open the books and run his hands across them, that made me feel all fluttery. It was how I’d felt shopping for him, too. And as I looked at the gorgeous cover and remembered his crinkly-eyed smile coming out of that bookshop, I admitted to myself that I also just wanted to see him. And not just because I knew he’d look good with a tool belt on; because I actually craved his company, weirdly enough.
I knew nothing would come of it; he’d made that much clear. But with everything that was going on – work, the house, Pablo, all of it – being around him made me feel grounded. Excited. Brave. And that wasn’t nothing.
Still, it took me a solid ten minutes to talk myself into texting him, despite the fact that we exchanged casual texts all the time, and another five to craft a message that I thought sounded casual enough that he could easily say no if he didn’t want to come. As soon as I was done, I chucked my phone across the room onto the window seat as if it were about to explode, attempting to distract myself with my tablet.
Less than a minute later, it lit up, and I practically sprinted over to it to read Jack’s response. Then I did a highly embarrassing happy dance into the kitchen, where I cracked open a bottle of beer. Tonight I could be cosy. And tomorrow … well, tomorrow I’d get to be grounded and excited and brave.