Jerk Boss: A New Highland Romance

by Deana Farrady

  It was bliss to finally enter the cafe, thaw her feet, and bask in the warmth of hot apple cider amidst rousing Christmas music. So many storm refugees were crammed inside seeking shelter that it turned out to be the best time she'd had in ages.

  The mood was festive enough to keep her from getting depressed whenever she saw people cradling their pets in their laps. The barista happened to ask where her Sherpa bag was and gave Lia a look of sympathy when she found out about Max.

  Reluctant to leave the warmth and camaraderie and return home to her sub-freezing apartment, Lia put it off as long as she could.

  WHEN SHE WOKE UP SHIVERING late Sunday morning, she had to force her natural optimism to the surface. It could be a lot worse. She could be trapped outside in the wind and snow, lost in the elements, slowly forming into an icicle far from civilization instead of enjoying the relative comforts of her apartment.

  Yeah, a lot worse. There were much more horrible ways to spend her birthday.

  Because today was that. Geez, how could she have forgotten?

  She'd planned to go to watch Drunken Master at the indie theater to celebrate the day, not freeze her ass off all alone.

  She grabbed for her phone. Still charged and connected. Scrolling through her contacts, seeing how few of them there were, most of them related to work, was demoralizing. She checked out the cinema. The latest tweet indicated there would be no showings until further notice.

  Okay. Well...fine. It wasn't a big deal.

  She was only turning a quarter of a century old. There would be other birthdays. Other milestones...

  Oh, dammit, who was she kidding here? Spending your twenty-fifth birthday on your own in a cold, lonely apartment was miserable.

  "I am not sad and pathetic," she croaked through a dry throat. "I am not sad and pathetic. I just play sad and pathetic on TV."

  Eventually the flood of her own self-pity threatened to gag her, and she ordered her brain to mellow out. Compared to all the suffering in the world, a birthday spent like this is bliss. The best thing ever. Billions of starving people would envy me. First world problems.

  Yeah. Whatever. It was a day.

  Might as well get out of bed and get on with it.

  But there wasn't much to do other than stay warm at this point. She was huddling in multiple layers of thick clothing, treading up and down the hallway, running through possibilities for heated establishments—maybe an electronics store?—when her phone chimed. Her heart lifted, then sank when she saw the caller's identity.

  "Hi, Mom."

  "Are you having a nice birthday, Lia?"

  "Yes. Yes, thank you."

  "Glad to hear it. I trust you received my gift?"

  "Yes, I got the sweater. Thanks." She spoke loudly to be heard above the Christmas music she could hear playing in the background.

  "I was worried it wouldn't get there."

  "No, it did. It really did."

  "Good."

  Lia floundered. "Um...it's nice. It's pretty. I like the color."

  "Good. How is Malcolm?"

  "Malcolm?"

  "Your cat."

  "You mean Max."

  "Yes, Max." Her mother paused. "A very pretty cat."

  Lia bit her lip. Max had been a butt-ugly cat. The ugliest. And she'd told her mother about Max's passing last week.

  "I had to put Max down last month, Mom."

  "Oh, that's right. Well, at least now you should be able to travel more."

  A long time ago, Lia had wondered if her mother was suffering from early Alzheimer's. But she'd come to accept that Phyllis Halpern simply wasn't interested in her daughter's life. Lia wasn't on her radar now that she was an adult living on her own. It made it both harder, and easier, to carry on a conversation with her mother. On the downside, she never knew what to say to her mom. On the upside, her mom never listened to what she said anyway.

  "I’m glad you got the sweater," her mother said pleasantly. "The mail has been just terrible around here. We had a television delivered to the wrong address last week, it was very annoying. Would you like to talk to your father?"

  "Sure." Yes, please, put on Stilted Parent Number Two.

  "Hello, Lia. Happy birthday," came her father’s hearty voice.

  "Thanks. Thank you. I appreciate it."

  "I heard on the news the power is out over by you."

  "Yes, actually, it is."

  "You have electric heat, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "That's too bad. We never lose power here, with these underground cables."

  "I know."

  "It's supposed to hit ten below tonight...did your mother tell you she got a new coat? You should get yourself something wool. You have a wool blanket?"

  "No. I have a comforter."

  "Good, good. You stay warm."

  "Okay, I will."

  "Well...take care, Lia."

  "Okay. You too."

  And that was all. She wasn't surprised they hadn't offered her shelter in their retirement bungalow. Lia's parents were not really into the whole keep-your-child-toasty-warm-because-you're-a-parent scene. They weren't into parenthood at all.

  The Halperns were a duty-bound older couple who'd manned up reluctantly to raise the child they'd conceived in error, a mistake they didn't make again. They'd given her free reign to do whatever she wanted as long as she didn't get in the way. The day after she turned eighteen, they'd kicked her and Max out, sending them off in the Halpern's ancient Pontiac, and she was pretty sure if she'd glanced out the rear view mirror that snowy morning she'd have seen them dusting off their hands.

  Suddenly needing to warm herself from the inside out, Lia tucked the phone into her pocket and stomped to the kitchen. She began flinging open cabinet doors. It seemed she'd used up the last of her wine coolers and never bothered to restock. Even warm beer would be welcome...preferable, even. But she was out of luck.

  Okay then. Back to exercise.

  Clad in several layers of fleece, a hat, mittens, and running shoes, she did a set of jumping jacks...and her thoughts became a chaotic jumble.

  Twenty five. Twenty five and living on her own. Not bad for a kid who hadn’t even graduated college...

  But then a pang stopped her dead. What had she actually accomplished in all this time?

  The answer slammed into her: other than hopping onto the treadmill and staying there...not a single damn thing.

  The plan had been to go to college. Except she hadn't qualified for financial assistance due to her parents' robust income, of which they refused to contribute a cent, citing the trouble their friends' children had getting jobs out of college. They even told her she owed them for providing for her. She still had their bill for parental expenses tucked away in a shoebox of memories.

  Lia couldn’t really blame them for not wanting to put out, given that they never wanted the responsibility of a kid in the first place. Having essentially raised herself to the point of becoming fiercely independent, she resolved that she didn't need anybody's help to pay for college.

  At eighteen, she'd set herself a goal to pay for her own schooling with her own cash, earned by good, old-fashioned hard work, the same as she'd been doing since she was fourteen. She’d never have to worry about relying on anybody or owing anybody ever again.

  It had seemed simple enough at the time. She hadn't expected it to take seven years. And now she was within reach of her goal—sort of. She had enough money in the bank to pay for her first year’s tuition and expenses. Yet she lacked the time to go to school. Once she stopped working, she'd fall behind.

  So here she was, on a course for thirty and still barely any farther along the track to becoming a physical therapist.

  Working as a PT was all she'd ever wanted to do. Ever since she was eight years old, she'd been drawn to the warm, encouraging people who'd helped her rehabilitate from a broken arm. Plus she figured it was practical; job shortage or not, there would always be the need for PTs. The trouble was getting t
here before she became an old lady.

  Face it, Lia You have nothing to show for your life. Not even a decent social life. She’d let her friendships fall by the wayside in her determination to succeed, losing touch with everyone over the years except Trisha and a few Snapchat connections.

  Dammit. Despite all that sacrifice and hard work, her life looked to be not much different from when she'd started out. Generally she tried not to let the time it was taking get her down, but her parents loved to point out how they'd bought their house when they were still in their twenties. She'd watched her friends graduate college and move on and tried hard not to feel like a failure.

  When she’d lost Max, she'd cried rivers of tears...but now...now it felt like she was losing her dreams, too.

  Gah!

  Stupid self-pity. She had her health and, yes, her youth. Crying was pointless. A few more years and it would all pan out. She'd get there. She would.

  Until then she'd simply channel her frustration. She'd channel it into martial arts movies. And a nice, satisfying, ear-splitting scream.

  Here's your chance. Do it now, while there’s nobody around to call 911.

  Her mouth opened...and the phone sounded.

  "Be right back with you, major freakout," she muttered. "Hey, Cecelia," she said to her SpeedeeGo supervisor after a glance at the screen.

  "Lady! Happy birthday! How's your day going?"

  "Well, th-the power's out, but other than that, it's good."

  "Are those your teeth I hear chattering? You must be on one of the downed grids I heard about. I hope you're surviving." Cecelia Tobe always sounded cheerful, something Lia usually appreciated. Except today.

  "Oh, yeah, I'm surviving."

  Cecelia chuckled. "I was planning to stop by this evening with your birthday gift, but maybe we'll celebrate another day. Do you want to come by the store? You could warm up, enjoy the company..."

  And get roped into working on my day off. She knew the way Cecelia operated. "No, thanks. I'm having a great day. Few days are better than this one, r-r-right here."

  As always, Cecelia didn't quite know how to take Lia. "Well hang in there, all right? We'll see you Monday. Oh, one moment, I just had a fabulous idea. Jeremy wanted Wednesday off. Why don't you fill in for him and pick up some comp time? Or is that cute landlord of yours making you work this week, too?"

  Normally, Wednesday was reserved for working on the apartment units. Typically Lia would jump at the chance for extra work, and the heat would certainly be welcome.

  But today she wanted to say no. The trouble was, she hated to let people down. She was a soft touch. She felt responsible. If she could do something, she felt like she should. "All the tenants are out, so I have the rest of the week off," she admitted. "I guess I could cover for Jeremy."

  She wilted.

  Because that's what pushovers did.

  And everybody knew Lia Halpern was a grade-A pushover. Healthy, strong, hard-working and reliable, she was the person everybody counted on. The one who always came through. The stalwart, the true, the ...

  Pathetic chump who caved every time. Doing what was expected of her.

  Just like her parents. The Halperns had raised an unwanted child out of obligation and embarrassment, and look what had happened. They’d resented every minute of it.

  They hated their lives.

  Sometimes Lia thought everyone might have been much happier if she'd been put up for adoption. If her parents had gone with not doing what others expected of them.

  The thought rocked her and spurred a slew of others.

  I don't want to be that person.

  I don't want to resent my life.

  I don't want to let the world mow over me.

  I want my life to be mine.

  I want out of this rut.

  This is my birthday.

  Lia terminated the conversation in a daze, plopped down on the sofa, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth.

  The scream that came from her one-bedroom apartment echoed down the abandoned halls of the building.

  IT WAS A GOOD scream. She sure felt pumped afterwards. Throat sore but otherwise doing fine. Lia inhaled deeply, smoothed the fabric of her sweatpants and stretched.

  Cathartic scream. Check.

  What next?

  Hmm....

  She delved for her phone and stabbed at it.

  "Yeah?"

  Yeah was Trisha's version of hello, you'd better have a good reason for bothering me since my time is extremely valuable. These days, you wouldn't know she had once been Lia’s best friend.

  Lia braced her gut, gearing up for the worst. Trisha did not deal well with disappointment.

  "Hey, Trish, um, hi, how are you?" she said, rushing on, "So I've been thinking and here's the thing. I was fine with watching Mari and Brandi when it was only gonna be for a couple months. But it's been almost a year now, and I don't want to do it anymore. Really sorry, but I wanted to let you know ASAP."

  "What? Lia, is there something wrong with your voice? It sounded like you said you don't want to watch the kids anymore." Trisha's tone said, impossible.

  "Yes, you heard right."

  "You don't want to?" Trisha sounded amazed that Lia felt as if she had a choice in the matter.

  "Right. I don't want to." And that's okay, she reassured herself.

  "Well...why?"

  "Lots of reasons." Mostly, I just figured out that my time is valuable, too.

  "Lia! This isn't like you. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong. It's just that well, Alex is better now, he's all recovered from his accident, so he can do it, at least until you hire someone."

  "Come on! Are you serious here? This is not the time to flake out on us, Lia. You know Alex is looking for a job, he doesn’t have time to watch the girls. And we haven’t saved nearly enough. What if someone decides to place an offer on the house? You can't just bail on us now. This is our life, Lia. We're trying to get ahead. I mean why am I even working a night job here? We're so close to getting the down payment I can feel it. You wouldn't let us down at this point in the game, would you?"

  Don’t feel sorry for her, Lia told herself sternly. She let you down enough times. Don't let her guilt you.

  "I know I should have said something sooner. See, I happen to have things I want to do with my time, too." She heard the edge creeping into her own voice and took a deep, calming breath. "I'm sure you'll be fine. The house you want has been on the market for what, two years already? I don't think it's selling unless they come down in price, and if they do that then you can go ahead and place your offer. Voila!"

  "That's not the point. You promised to help. You promised."

  "And," Lia went on, pretending not to hear, "in any case, you still own the place you're in now, even if it doesn't have the perfect modern kitchen and all the storage room you'd like. Listen, I have to go. Give the girls a kiss for me will you? Okay, well, I'll talk to you later, Trish. Or not, if you're too busy. Gotta go eat my birthday cake now."

  She ended the call and clutched it in her fist. She supposed it was lame and cowardly to have let things get to this point and then just sprung it on Trisha like that. It hadn't been the ideal way to dale with the matter. Yet...she'd done it! And it hadn't been dreadful at all. Instead, it had almost been...fun.

  A text came in.

  Trisha.

  Hope you choke on your birthday cake, bitch.

  Wow. Okay, then. So much for a lifetime’s friendship.

  Probably she should be upset. But she felt giddy, like a great burden had been lifted from her heart. She eyed her phone contemplatively...and punched again.

  "Mom? I forgot one thing. I can't make it to Christmas this year."

  "Lia, is that you? What in the world—"

  "Or Thanksgiving even. New Year's Eve either. I'm probably unavailable for Memorial Day and Fourth of July too, come to think of it."

  "But we need you. You know we need you for the holidays. All the parties
..."

  "You know what, Mom, I don’t think you do need me," she said in a steady tone. "What you need is a servant to cook for you and stay out of the way so you can talk to your friends. Maybe you should hire a caterer or a housekeeper. Pretending they're not there is in their job description."

  There was a stunned silence. Then: "You’re not making sense, Lia. You always cook at the holidays when we entertain. It's tradition."

  "Well, so, if that's the case, I want a new tradition. I mean if you want me to come by and eat—hang out at the table with you guys like I'm, oh, like your daughter or something—I'd like that. I truly would. But I'm not cleaning your house and cooking a big feast and serving it to all those people and acting like I'm nobody, not this time. Okay, so I'm guessing this is unexpected and surprising and upsetting or whatever so I’ll just let you absorb it now. Let me know what you think about, you know, the daughter thing. Bye."

  She hung up. Her heart was thundering in her ribcage. She'd never once told her parents how much she resented her role as house elf during the holidays.

  It felt good. Really good.

  She took a deep breath. And once more punched the phone.

  "Cecelia? Hey, this'll be quick. You know all that comp time I've got stored up?"

  "Oh, yes, you can be paid or take it as time off. Have you—"

  "I want to use it," Lia cut in before she lost her nerve. "From Christmas to MLK Day."

  "From Christmas—Lia, that’s three weeks!"

  "I know, but you see, in all these years I've never once gotten a single day off, or called in sick, or missed a single hour of work. I don't even take most holidays off."

  "Lady, you know why—"

  "Yes, I do. It's because I always let everyone talk me out of it. It's because when other people don't step up to the plate, I do. Well, I figure it's my turn to take time off and get my own stuff done. I have enough hours saved up for that amount of time, don't I?"

  "Well, of course, but Lia, you really should have given me more warning for such a long vacation. Finding someone to cover for you..."

  "Is a problem, I know. So I'll call around and find someone to cover my shifts myself, how's that? Next time I'll give you better warning."