17 JANIE #2
I nod, sniff, shrug and wave goodbye. Then I leave.
I head back to the Mellman’s office, totally off my game.
The grim reaper actually startles me as I pass into my department.
I took an early lunch to see Gran but didn’t eat, so now I’m emotionally drained and starving and distracted.
I grab a beef jerky from my blood sugar stash in my desk and log back in on my work desktop.
Calm comes over me as I get back into the most recent spreadsheet I had open. The numbers are simple and concrete. Sure, there are 2,121,008 dollars and fifty cents missing, but I’ll find them.
Because numbers don’t lie. They don’t gamble or charm or drink or leave or lose their memories or any of the awful crap humans do in the real world. I put on white noise in my noise-canceling headphones. Screw the real world.
I can’t fix Gran.
I can’t fix Jack.
I can’t fix the fact that I have to move in with Benedict tomorrow.
But last year’s numbers? Now that, I can fix.
_____
I put my headphones in my desk drawer and stretch. I did a lot of work today. A huge lot of mustard had been mislabeled, to the tune of 425,352 dollars. My eyes are stinging from staring so long, or from my emotional lunch break. I close them and take a breath as I pop my back.
I pull out my phone and notice two missed calls from the billionaire.
Janie: What’s up?
Benedict Clark: I wanted to deviate from our plans
Janie: Don’t love that.
Benedict Clark: Hence the phone call. Care to return it?
Janie: I’m about to drive home.
Benedict Clark: Okay, well there’s this grand invention called speaker phone, we could try it.
I smile but don’t reply. I didn’t notice when people started leaving at five.
It’s almost six. I guess I really was thrown off today.
I walk out of the front door and inhale.
You can really smell the seasons in Juniper Falls.
I didn’t realize that was a thing until moving to New York where it kind of just always smells like whatever corner of the city you live in.
Here, it’s definitely fall. People are grilling, so there’s a smoky smell but it’s not the same as the fireplace smoke of winter. The breeze is crisp and spiced. The sun is setting, a few leaves crunch under my feet.
I breathe deeply, feeling refreshed by the air after the long afternoon hunched at my desk.
There are a few good things about this tiny town, I suppose.
I drive home in Gran’s old Lincoln, change into my favorite sweats set and heat up some leftovers. I pour myself a glass of wine and then pick up my phone.
“Ja-Janie?” Benedict answers my FaceTime call right away.
“Don’t make a big—”
“The Janie I married? FaceTiming? It can’t be. There’s been an alien abduction, obviously. Blink twice if you’re in distress, damsel!”
“Well, I’m hanging up.”
“Stop! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Was this your first time to initiate a FaceTime? Was I the first?”
“You flatter yourself.”
He pretends to be disappointed. “Still. I know I’m in small company.”
“You told me to call you, remember?” He straightens up and moves further into some kind of dark hallway. “Where are you?”
“Meeting.” He says right as a chorus of Shots!
Shots! Shots! rings out in the background.
He winces. Something in me winces too, but I keep my face neutral.
He can do what he wants when we’re not pretending.
His face is almost contrite, though, as he explains, “Well, it started as a meeting a couple hours ago. Some of our partners are in the city from Japan. Had to show them a Big Apple good time, you know.”
“Uh huh, I can let you go.”
“No, this is vastly superior to texting. I get to actually see you roll your stunning eyes, rather that sense it through the chilling tone of your messages.”
“I really want to roll my eyes but now I’m not going to.”
“Damn.”
“What did you want to change in our plan, Boss?”
“Ben, please, you’re killing me. And I just thought I should probably have movers come and pack and move your things to the house.”
I frown at the idea of him or anyone coming to Gran’s house. “Oh, no, thank you. I can pack it up myself.”
“Tomorrow? All of it? We need to lay it on a bit thick these next few weeks. I’d rather not have photos of you or me carrying boxes about.
” I start to scoff but he beats me to the joke on the tip of my tongue, “It’s not only that I’m too wealthy and handsome for manual labor.
Or that I’m out of shape. I work out, as my wife noticed and recently mentioned, I have big muscles.
Huge.” Don’t roll your eyes. Or blush that he noticed you noticing that.
“It’s just because they’ll run the image with a headline that I’m moving out or I’ve kicked you out or something.
Even though the opposite is the truth, they’ll put the more clicky caption on there. ”
“Right. Good call.”
“So, I’ll have a company come gather everything tomorrow daytime, then when you leave work, you come straight to the house, I’ll arrange for you to be followed and photographed. I’ll be in sometime that night and then Saturday, the apples best prepare themselves.”
“The apple picking is not a contest,” I remind him.
“Even so. We will be the best, sexiest, most adorable newlywed apple pickers that the internet has ever seen.” I roll my eyes. At that, he beams. Dang it. “Listen, this is not about you or me, darling, this is about that neck. She is a goddess and needs to be redeemed. We owe it to her.”
I laugh, “You are ridiculous, you know that?”
“Sorry, can’t hear you over my Japanese mates here. What’s that?” He pretends, making a show of holding the camera to his ears.
“Goodbye, boss!”
“It’s Ben, for f—”
I hang up.
And, annoyingly, I feel better again. Until I look around at the tiny kitchen and realize strangers will be here tomorrow, seeing everything, touching things. That won’t do.
I take one last bite of food and go search for a few moving boxes.
____
“Sorry to call in response to your text but my hands are covered in icing.” Harper grunts.
“Stop. You know I don’t mind calls from my friends.” She snorts, knowing that’s a stretch. “So, did that help?” I ask her as I hold one small box in the crook of my arm and open the heavy door with my other hand.
“It did, you’re a genius. Such a small change, no one noticed the fifty cent price increase, and the quality is the same with the new supplier.” I smile at Harper’s excitement. “You told me, just fix the bestsellers. You were right. Gen. ius.”
“It’s not me, it's just the numbers—oh.” I stop in the kitchen and almost drop the box.
I used the garage door opener that showed up in my mailbox with instructions.
I did as I was told. Drove home from work, pulled into the garage, then let myself in through the unlocked interior garage door.
A few steps into the little back hall and then… this.
“Janie?”
“I…I’m at the house.” I whisper.
“Why are you whispering?” She whispers back.
Because I’m…speechless? It’s gorgeous in here. The house is not new and the exterior is a bit log-cabin-y, like most of the fancy mansions here. People vacation here in the fall, so houses are built to rent. And people want to rent the fall vibes.
I expected the house to be big, because, duh, billionaire. But I also expected it to be outdated and woodsy here in this showy, old-money section of Juniper Falls that overlooks the lake.
I was dead wrong.
Not only is everything updated with modern lines and large single-pane windows for days, everything is…
“Pinterest.” I say aloud.
Harper is still whispering, “Huh?”
“He must have looked at my Pinterest. That’s how he did the cubicle and that’s how he, er, his decorator, did this house. I mean, I think those are the actual light fixtures from this one Dream Home Giveaway house I’m obsessed with.”
“You’re obsessed with a house?”
I grimace, “I was trying to get inspired to D-I-Y Gran’s place.”
“Ohhh,” she buys my answer. It’s not a lie.
It’s true, partially. The unsaid part is that I’ve always dreamed of a home home.
We had Gran’s house but it was already falling apart when I was old enough to be embarrassed about it.
I was in elementary school when I started to notice friends’ homes and cars and, really, their families.
I think all kids get kind of Norman-Rockwell-Family-obsessed when they come from the opposite reality.
In adulthood, I’ve had New York shoebox apartments. Roommates and just until we can afford better townhouses. Then Theo’s place.
Once I started scrolling on Instagram and Pinterest for Gran’s place I started to dream again about my place. Home. Someday.
And now I feel like I just walked into it.
“So, it’s nice?” Harper asks since I’m walking around in silence.
“No,” I laugh. “It’s incredible. But it’s not that, it’s, well, it’s just so…me. I mean, even with the massive windows and light wood, it’s still moody and cozy, blankets everywhere, rich colors, even the fireplace is on. Who came in and turned on the fireplace?” I ramble out loud.
Harper is smiling, “That’s great! Then it’ll be nice while you have to live there with him, right?”
Oh.
Right.
I have to live with Benedict.
For a while, and then he’ll be gone and I’ll be back to…cleaning up all the messes I made. I got another text about said mess today. I abandoned my lunch after that. Another wasted meal.
This is his place, and it’s temporary.
It’s not my place. Not my home.
As soon as I think it, here he is, saying it. Benedict barges in the front door like a cartoon, “Honey, I’m home!”
My stomach somersaults sideways as I turn around to face the front door.
“Harper, I’m going to have to call you back…”