14. Mona
I’m not sure I actually slept last night. I think my body just lay there in a coma state because I feel like I was out for maybe five actual minutes. I don’t know why. There was just an uneasy pit in my stomach that I couldn’t shake. Yet, somehow, I’m still running late to my booth this morning.
I’m solely face painting today and not helping with the makeup department afterward because it’s a Tuesday.
Technically, Horror Night—The Schrader House’s alternate ego that has the scare actors, Saturday night ghost tours, and more adult themed activities—only operates Thursday through Sunday.
But I’m not mad about it because I plan on going straight back to my bed and passing out after my shift.
This morning, I feel like an imposter without my usual attire and makeup on. The only reason my hair is down is because I had it braided last night, leaving it cute and wavy today.
In the chaos of getting dressed and out of my room, I managed to throw on a Schrader House–branded shirt and jean shorts. My poor legs don’t even have their emotional support tights on today.
We’re a mess.
My new boots, courtesy of my sexy stalker, trot across the yard as I get to my booth. I’m ready and eager to paint faces today. Not. Thankfully, it’s still eight a.m. and relatively slow this morning, no kids lined up and waiting.
“Cutting it close.” Clara’s stern voice sounds behind me, and my spine straightens.
I quickly drop my purse to my chair that I rarely get a chance to sit in during a shift and close my eyes, spinning around to face the music. I cannot lose this job.
“Clara, I’m sorry. I can stay as late as you need.”
I open my eyes, suddenly aware that we are not alone. Cambrie and her brother—Caper, I think—are beside her, both studying me with a knowing look.
Great.
From the way they’re both looking at me, I have a horrible feeling that this might be my last day. Smug smirks, like they know something I don’t.
“You’ve never been late or stepped a foot out of line, Mona. I’m just teasing you,” Clara assures me.
The tightness in my shoulders dissipates. Oh, thank God.
“Have you met the Ridleys properly? I’m introducing them to anyone they might have missed from their previous visits.”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mona. I’ve heard great things.” Cambrie beams and turns to Clara, a polite smile on her face. “Would you mind showing me those new stuffies we got for the gift shop?”
She knows how to pique Clara’s interest.
“I’d love to!”
Clara strides away, and Cambrie follows her, but not before giving Caper a side-eye, communicating something that I can’t understand.
After they make it halfway to the house, Mr. Tall, Blond, and Bratty steps up in front of my booth. I have so many good ways to twist his ego right now, but I can’t. Because he’s my stupid boss.
His eyes search my face, as if he’s seeing me for the first time or trying to figure out if something’s changed. He’d be the most observant man in the world if he remembered my makeup from before and the lack thereof now. It’s a sweet thought, but that’s all it is.
“Look.” The word flies from my mouth, stealing the start of the conversation before he can say anything. “I didn’t know you were the owner. I’m”—why is this so hard?—“sorry. Had I known—”
“Stop,” he cuts me off, an aggravating twinkle in his eye and a higher pitch to his voice than I remember. “Had you known I owned the place, you’d, what, have kissed my ass?”
“Eww. God, no,” I scoff, unable to stop the words before they slip past my lips or the scowl from forming on my face.
“I’m sure your ass is great.” I wince, wanting to throw myself off of the nearest bridge because I can’t say the right thing to save my life.
“But I would have been more respectful, is all. I apologize.”
“While I appreciate that”—a chuckle bubbles out of him, lifting his smile—“I’m glad you didn’t. It was refreshing, getting knocked down a peg every time we crossed paths.”
“Oh, really?” I scoff, standing up a little taller, reassured about my job’s stability. “Well, Caper, then it’s my pleasure.”
His nostrils flare, and his head cocks to the side. “What did you call me?” He laughs obnoxiously. “Caper?”
“Is that not your name?” I ask genuinely, my stomach sinking through my ass.
The itch in my throat wants me to curse him out for getting enjoyment out of my mistake, but I keep it to myself.
Rich prick.
His golden-brown eyes are full of joy when he finally manages to suppress his laughter and hold my gaze. “My name’s Casper.”
Shrugging, I try to find a middle ground between playful and professional, pinching my hand behind my back. “It was close though, right?”
The tip of his tongue runs across his top lip as he inhales, and I find myself watching it, tracking every movement before it disappears back inside his mouth.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me, Myra?”
Okay, now he’s just begging for my true self to come out.
His purposeful mistake means that he knows the real thing, and I may be his employee, but it’s still shocking.
Granted, I think he hit on me at Moore’s Crafts before he was aware that I worked here, but he had to learn it somehow.
Probably from Clara on the walk over here.
“Point taken,” I bite out through my teeth, confused at why I feel so …
animalistic right now. I want to pounce on him, sink my claws in.
But I have a feeling he'd probably like that, and I don’t want to please that man for a second.
“Well, you’d better catch up with your sister.
After all, it isn’t a royal tour without the other half. ”
A slow blink and roll of his brow, he opens and closes his mouth, unsure what to say. When he speaks, his voice is softer. “A royal tour.” He scoffs. “Cambrie’s the only one with a crown.”
“And she’s the only one with the accounts?
Or do you get that benefit just because of your name?
” I snap, crossing my arms. An invisible hand grabs my throat, self-loathing sinking in my skin.
I know I’m being a bitch. Part of that is just who I am.
The other part is … jealous and scared. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’m sorry.”
Where is that bridge again?
My eyes fall to his tennis shoes, my throat closing up. I feel myself slipping away, shrinking into the back of my mind. “Mr. Ridley, you have been very kind and generous. I’m sorry for lashing out. That was wrong.”
The shoes move, striding closer to me, and I look up, scanning his body as I go. Black sweatpants. A baggy black sweatshirt. Sharp jaw. Bright eyes. Kept brows. Messily styled blond hair, like only someone who’s done it a million times before can pull it off. He’s objectively attractive.
He’s fucking hot, and you know it.
I argue back with myself. But it doesn’t matter because we have a boyfriend. Or a guy that is … close.
“Mona”—he holds his hands up in surrender, as if he isn’t the one with all the power—“if I can call you that?” I nod, and he continues, “I don’t like a yes man. If I wanted someone close to me who kissed my ass, I’d talk to Brett in makeup.”
“He would do more than just kiss your ass.” I slap my hand over my mouth, my eyes wide. “Wait, you want me close to you?”
Casper’s cheek twitches with amusement, pulling into a confident smirk. “In some ways, I already feel closer to you than I do some of my friends.”
Okay, you fucking weirdo.
Ooh, maybe I could use this to my advantage and get a raise at some point. Jot that down in my mental notebook.
“You’re very nice.” I appeal to his need for assurance. “I’m always here to tell you like it is.”
“No sugarcoating.” He chuckles, stating a fact rather than a question. “I’d expect nothing less.”
I never thought I’d say this happily but … “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a kid’s face to paint.”
I shrug, turning my attention to the little girl in a rainbow dress and a black tutu, wearing little black gloves. She is certainly a vibe.
He bites down on his bottom lip, nodding and conceding. “Catch you later, Mona.”
Spinning on his heel, he heads to the main house, and I grab my palette, ready to bring whatever this icon wants to life.
Is this little girl who I would’ve been in another life if I had grown up in a family like hers, loving and accepting? A sassy ball of attitude who somehow already knows who she is.
While I paint a unicorn with a rainbow coat and black hair on her cheek, she tells me all about her pet lizard who doesn’t love her as much as she loves him.
She spends the few minutes we have together unloading some of her family drama and some dirt on her brother, who’s been cursing behind their parents’ backs lately.
Her mouth is like mine—off the leash. I love it.
Flipping the mirror over, I reach over her shoulder from behind her. “Have a look.”
She gasps, a shriek tearing from her a second later. “Oh my God! It’s perfect!” I have to lean away from her so her scream doesn’t hurt my ears. “I love it! I love it! I love it! Thank you!” Hopping off the stool, she rushes down the step and straight toward her parents. “Look! Look!”
Her mom scoops her up and spins her around with glee, and a tightness forms in my chest. I try not to compare my life, especially my family, with others. But, fuck, this one punched me in the gut.
I’ve never had a moment like that with my parents. Maybe when I was really little, but even then, I could feel the lack of love between us. It was a hard lesson to learn, one I understood faster when I was in school.
Packed lunchboxes with handwritten notes from doting parents.
Dino-shaped sandwiches. Cut-up fruit. Snacks.
And dessert. I never had any of that. I was lucky if I could find something in the fridge to bring with me.
If not, my teachers were usually the ones to share a part of their lunch to help me out.
The teachers were the main reason I even graduated.
All of them helped me grow and took better care of me than my parents. As fucking sad as that is.