Chapter 15 B Minus
B Minus
The two a.m. night demons perched on Morgan’s shoulders again, chattering in her ears about what a failure she was, how even an intern shouldn’t have made the mistake that had cost her her career.
How she was unemployable. She’d lose the house.
Lose her car. Lose her parents’ respect. Lose the few friends she had.
She turned over and punched her pillow to get it to sit how she liked it. Counted backward from five hundred in threes, and then again in sevens. Tried the four-seven-eight breathing pattern her mom swore by, even tried counting sheep jumping a gate.
Nothing worked. It never did.
It was still only 2:34 a.m. She got out of bed, pushed her feet into fluffy slippers and pulled on a cozy top over her pajamas and went downstairs for a cup of herbal tea. That never worked either, but at least it gave her something to do with her hands as she stared mindlessly at bad TV.
The messy kitchen mocked her. Heidi had cooked an amazing meal, but Morgan had underestimated what a sloppy cook she was.
She thought they’d cleaned up before bed, but now, in the harsh overhead light, the sauce on the backsplash, the random bits of salad on the floor, and the salad dressing sitting on the counter instead of in the fridge taunted her.
She lifted the stovetop grates and narrowed her eyes at the crusty line where the rice had boiled over.
She pressed her lips together and reached for the range cleaner.
An hour later, the kitchen shone. Morgan’s eyes scratched with tiredness, but at least her mind was calmer. She filled a mug with water and put it in the microwave. She’d make that herbal tea, and hopefully that would be enough to help her sleep.
She woke with a start sometime later, her mind scrambling to catch up.
She cracked her eyes open. She was on the living room couch, the mug of cold tea on the table next to her.
And from the noise in the kitchen, Heidi had to be making breakfast. More mess.
She looked at her cell phone—it was just past eight.
At least she’d had some sleep, and although her stiff neck screamed that it would have been better to sleep in her expensive bed, at least she’d slept.
Morgan levered herself to her feet and went through to the kitchen.
“Hi.” Heidi turned from the toaster and gave her a smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I’m glad you did. My neck and back thank you.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” At Morgan’s nod, Heidi continued, “My mom sings ‘Ten Green Bottles’ in reverse in her head. She never gets past seventy-nine green bottles hanging on the wall. Coffee?” She held up the bag of grocery store beans.
“Sure. Thanks.” It might help clear her brain fog.
Heidi pushed two slices of bread into the toaster. The Vegemite jar and a dirty knife sat on the counter amid a scattering of crumbs. “I’m having brekkie now, as I want to video chat with Fiona. There’s nothing worse than toast crumbs in the bedsheets, though. Breakfast in bed is so overrated.”
“I’ve never had breakfast in bed.” Surely that was something only small kids did as a “treat” for their moms on Mother’s Day? And crumbs? No. Just no.
“You’re not missing anything.”
Morgan focused on Heidi’s forearms and fingers as she unscrewed the Vegemite.
Strong forearms, neat hands with short, clipped fingernails.
No polish. She looked down at her own nails.
The once perfect buffed ovals were now a bit long, ragged on the edges, and the clear polish she used was growing out.
When had she let herself slip so much? It was hardly a professional image.
At least Heidi didn’t seem to have noticed.
The toast popped, and Heidi covered it with a thick layer of butter and a scraping of Vegemite.
More crumbs joined the ones on the counter as she finished the toast in four large bites.
“Okay, I’m done. Time for my call with Fiona.
” She opened the dishwasher and went to put her plate on the rack, then checked and turned and rinsed it first. Then she left.
Morgan scowled at the remaining crumbs on the counter. She’d been about to ask Heidi to make more of an effort to clean up, but she’d gone before she could raise the subject.
It seemed the honeymoon period was over.
~ ~ ~
Morgan opened her email and scanned down her messages. Two emails from financial firms she’d applied to jumped out. Maybe they were requesting an interview. Maybe they’d found her résumé a good match for the position. Maybe. Maybe.
She opened the first email and scanned the opening lines.
Dear Ms. Favola. Thank you for your interest in employment with Crystal Star Financial. We have now filled this position, however we will keep your details on file should any further vacancy arise.
Kind regards, etc. etc. The second email said the exact same in slightly different wording.
She opened her spreadsheet of applications and updated the response. That left only one outstanding application, plus the career-ending option of working with Murray Price. Although, how could that be career ending if her career had already ended?
She changed to her banking app and stared at the balance.
Despite Heidi’s rent money and despite her being careful, her savings were diminishing faster than she’d expected.
What else could she do? Grocery shopping from the chain supermarkets rather than the organic whole food places for one.
Lower her standards—she didn’t need the premium brands all the time.
She opened the Excel spreadsheet she used to track her budget. The car was coming up for service. And with two people in the house, the power bills would be higher. Morgan bit her lip as worry churned in her chest. Would those changes be enough?
She switched to LinkedIn to update her profile and post something relevant. Although what, she had no idea.
~ ~ ~
“It’s going well, Fi.” Heidi grinned at her sister over the video link. “Morgan can be kinda prickly, but I think we’re finding things in common.”
“Queer community?” Fiona asked.
“Technically yes, but the house isn’t awash with Pride flags, if that’s what you mean. Maybe I should suggest we go to an event together. Although I don’t know how comfortable she is with that.”
“With being out, or being out with you?” Fiona slapped her forehead. “Duh. I don’t mean being out out with you, like you’re on a date. I just mean she might have friends she’d prefer to go with. Or a girlfriend. Does she have one?”
“I haven’t met any of her friends, and she’s never mentioned a girlfriend. Of course, I’m working most evenings. She could run burlesque classes in the living room and I wouldn’t know.”
An image of Morgan in pasties, tassels, and feathers flashed through her mind.
Where had that come from? That was probably the last thing the rather uptight Morgan would do.
More like snow boots with her business suit—although Heidi had yet to see Morgan in full work wear.
Indeed, she didn’t seem to go into the office much—or at all.
Lucky her, being able to work from home so much.
“And are you still reining in your messy tendencies?” Fiona asked. “I mean, you remember the time at my place when you took the kitchen rubbish out?”
“Stop.”
“No, I’m continuing. The bag burst, and you didn’t notice, and it trailed a line of rotting vegetables and stinky fluid all the way to the front door. You said you’d clean up, but, yeah, nah. I had to throw the rug out.”
“Are you going to repeat that story every time my grungy nature comes up? I’ve been the dream housemate in every share house I’ve ever lived in. The one who does the dishes, puts them away, even cleans the toilet.”
“Melbourne share houses will never make Home Beautiful. That bar is insultingly low. From what you’ve said, Morgan is a neat freak. Didn’t you say the house was interior designer perfect?”
“She told me she hired a designer, but it’s overkill.
The napkins even match the curtains! It’s beautiful, in a sterile, generic sort of way.
No individuality. She told me that the designer even found the art prints on the wall to match the color scheme, not because—weird idea, this—she actually liked the prints. ”
“You’re still going to have to watch yourself if you want to keep living there. Why does a high earner like her want a housemate, anyway?”
“That’s a mystery, to be honest. But I’m sure she has her reasons.
” Heidi squinted at the screen to get a better look at the room behind Fiona.
A toppled basket of laundry had spilled clothes over the couch, and Iza’s schoolbag was dumped on the floor in the middle of the room among a litter of shoes and an abandoned vacuum.
“Looking at your living room, you calling me messy is pot, kettle, in a big way.”
“Iza’s seventeen. You should see her room.”
“How is Iza doing? Any better with school?”
“Not really. She wants to give it up and live on a commune in the Atherton Tablelands. It sounds like a cult to me—free love, communal finances, and community decisions made in a drumming circle—but right now, it’s what she says she wants. Or she could be saying it to piss me off.”
“The latter, most likely. Hang in there, Fi. She’ll mature eventually.”
“It’s a long time until she’s forty.” Fiona rolled her eyes. “I may not survive.”
“You’re not forty, and you’re mature. Sort of, anyway.”
“Thanks. I think.” Fiona glanced over her shoulder. “I hear noise, so I have to go. Iza wants a lift to the mall. God knows what she does there all day. As long as she doesn’t get arrested, I don’t care.”
“Bye.” Heidi kissed her fingers and touched the screen.
Fiona blew a kiss in return, and the call ended.
~ ~ ~
Heidi let herself into the dark house. It was nearly one in the morning, but she hadn’t got away from the Fly Inn until past midnight. Luckily, her Uber had arrived quickly—there was no way she’d take public transport that late.
She shucked off her shoes and padded quietly across to the kitchen. Her mind was still buzzing from the busy shift—a cup of herbal tea and some mindless doomscrolling should help settle it.
She put the kettle on the stove and pulled out a mint teabag. A note on the counter in Morgan’s distinctive bold writing caught her eye.
Heidi, your meal last night was fantastic.
However, while you did clean up after, it wasn’t good enough.
I spent over an hour this morning cleaning under the stovetop grate, wiping splashes of food from the tiles and marks from the cabinet doors, and cleaning the floor.
Then I had to clean up after your breakfast toast as well.
I don’t mean to be a bitch about this, but I like a clean and hygienic home.
Morgan
Heidi read the note twice. She could almost hear Morgan’s precise voice saying the words.
She looked around the kitchen. Yes, it was spotless, and the faint scent of lemon hung in the air.
The stovetop gleamed, the cabinet doors were devoid of smears, and she could nearly see her reflection in the tiled floor.
There was clean, and there was obsessive, and this bordered on the latter.
Her mom’s kitchen was the heart of the home, where the family gathered, where friends ambled in uninvited and were fed and watered.
Where homework had happened, where craft projects still happened.
It was clean—mostly, anyway—but it wasn’t operating-room sterile as Morgan’s was.
Still, Heidi had claimed she was neat and clean, so it was on her to live up to that claim. She’d just have to do better.
She found a pen in the kitchen drawer and wrote on the bottom of the note.
Sorry. I give myself a B minus: Must Try Harder. And I will.
Heidi