Pride and Papercuts

by Staci Hart

  I laughed, moving to fill his request. “Look at you. Look at you! I … I can’t believe my eyes.”

  We parted, and he rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushed and lips smiling. “Been too long since we seen you down here. Jess said you were back, but I thought she was pullin’ my leg.”

  She shrugged. “Nobody ever believes me. I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe it was all those whoppers you told, trying to hide Clint’s surprise party.”

  “Well, they don’t call it a surprise for nothing, Jacob.”

  “Still. Can’t blame us.” He turned back to me. “You can’t be here to cook or garden, not in that pretty dress.”

  “Says who?” I hung my coat and bag, exchanging them for an apron. “What are we working on for lunch?” Slipping the loop over my head, I peered into the pots.

  “Chili,” Jess answered. “The tomatoes are from our hydroponic garden in the basement.”

  Surprised, I asked, “How’d you finagle the money out of my mother?”

  “We didn’t.” Jacob gave his pot a stir. “We had a fundraiser.”

  My heart fluttered with pride. “Bikini car wash?” I joked.

  A laugh shot out of Jacob. “In your dreams, Miss Maisie.”

  Jess bumped his hip with hers. “We had a bake sale. Everyone pitched in back here, and a few of us canvassed local vendors to see if they’d be willing to help. Some sponsored, some donated goods, and nearly all of them put up fliers in their windows.”

  “We sold outta banana bread in two hours,” Jacob crowed. “Two hundred loaves. When’d we sell out for good?”

  “Four in the afternoon.” Jess let loose a happy sigh. “We’re lucky to be in a neighborhood that cares so much. Harvest is kind of a legend around here, if you didn’t know.”

  “You never told me,” I said on a laugh, but a pang of sadness struck me. I’d been so cut off, I hadn’t known.

  “Dennis—from our division at Bower, the one always in flannel? His degree is actually in agriculture. We came here every night and weekend for two months to get the basement garden set up and planted. That was a year ago.”

  Pride and longing plucked at my heart. “You have done so much. I knew you would.”

  “Well, there’s always more to do,” Jacob said. “We’re ’bout to plant the spring garden outside.”

  “I did hear that,” I said. “And then we move for solar. I’ve been working with our team on the proposal and set aside the money in our budget, so as soon as we have our permits and plans together, we’ll go green energy.”

  “Heard you’re openin’ a new Harvest Center,” Jacob started tentatively. “Where’s it gonna be?”

  “Hell’s Kitchen,” I answered with a smile. “I’ve found the perfect building, and once we have all our plans and blueprints ready, we’ll propose them to the city and make a bid on the property.”

  “Figure you’ll need help over there? Getting things started and all?”

  With a fond glance, I said, “Why, are you offering?”

  The earnest expression on his face stopped me. “I’m offering. If it weren’t for you and Jess and everybody, I don’t know where I’d be—I only know it wouldn’t be good, assuming I was still alive. I got my life back, and in exchange, the center will get anything it needs from me. So you just tell me how I can help, Miss Maisie. I’m ready.”

  It took everything I had not to either cry or launch myself at him for a hug. “Thank you, Jacob,” I said quietly.

  “Don’t you thank me. I didn’t do anything good in my life until this, and who knows if I’ll do anything good after.”

  “Oh, you will,” I promised without a single doubt in my mind.

  * * *

  The morning flew by in a rush. Jacob was right—there was always something to do, whether it was loading or unloading the industrial dishwasher or setting dishes out at the window to the cafeteria where we served. Moving lunch to the window or prepping for dinner. Mopping up or wiping down. And I settled into the rhythm with the ease and contentment that came along with busy hands and helping others.

  When the lunch hours were over, I made my way back to my bag, checking my phone for the first time in what felt like ages. My plan had been to text Marcus—I’d been looking forward to getting off my feet for a little while now—but instead, I found a string of messages from my mother.

  They started off cursory, shifted toward brusque, leaning into impatience before reaching her final stage—infuriation. Was I at my adorable little soup kitchen? How long of a lunch was I taking? Ignoring her wouldn’t get me any favors, she’d reminded me. And the final messages were a string of demands regarding my mandatory presence at a board meeting I’d never heard about.

  With a sigh, I gathered my things and said my goodbyes, hurrying to the curb to hail a cab. I’d missed my lunch date with Marcus, too busy to message him, so on my way to whatever doom my mother had in store, I texted Marcus with my apologies and to chat about my day, lamenting over my mother in between. And by the time we pulled up to the building, I’d been sitting still in the quiet cab long enough to leave me exhausted, body and mind.

  As I exited the taxi, I gave myself an inward slap to wake myself up.

  Who knew what I was about to walk into, but I couldn’t imagine it would be pleasant. Not after ignoring my mother all day.

  I wished terribly I was headed anywhere but to her, a wish not quieted by the opening and closing of the elevator doors that gave me glimpses to other floors, happier places. In a particularly mocking gesture, the universe made sure to stop at my floor—the charity floor.

  I gave it a longing look until the doors closed again.

  That tease was a direct representation of my mother’s intentions—give me a taste of what I wanted before taking it away.

  The stark administrative floor hummed, its elitist occupants and the air they breathed sharp with pretentiousness and condescension. There seemed to be a permanent upward tilt of every nose paired with side-eyes and side-talk. Fitting that my mother had hand-picked every employee on this floor. I was sure she felt right at home.

  I, on the other hand, felt the slime of this place clinging to me well after I’d gone.

  Shelby greeted me, the only decent thing on the entire floor.

  The concern on her face was not reassuring.

  “She’s been waiting on you to get here. The front desk saw you and called up, so she knows you’re here. I—”

  The double doors of Mother’s office flew open in a dramatic whoosh, and we flinched, turning to find her in the threshold. “Good,” she said on seeing me. “Come with me.”

  Shelby and I shared a look when Mother’s back was to us, and I followed her as bidden. The doors closed behind us.

  “I trust you’re enjoying yourself? Spending all day at that dirty, old building, feeding the unwashed masses.” She stilled, assessing me. “You’re filthy.”

  I glanced down, noting an almost imperceptible splatter of sauce. I swiped at it uselessly. “We were making chili.”

  With a disdainful look, she sat behind her desk, gesturing for me to take a seat of my own. “I’ve complied, let you do what you want.”

  She waited expectantly.

  I hesitated, unsure how to respond—she hadn’t exactly asked a question.

  “Well,” I started, “it’s only been two weeks, but we’ve made a lot of progress. I think I’ve found a new site and appointed—”

  “So you’re pleased with our bargain?”

  I paused, recognizing a trap when I saw one, but there was no way out except through. “Yes,” was all I allowed.

  “Unsurprisingly, I find myself disappointed.” Flat red lips to match her flat and furious voice. “Against my better judgment, I’ve stayed out of your way, given you the room you asked for. I’ve given you’ve all you’ve asked for. But you haven’t given me what I want.”

  My brows inched together. “I’ve sat in every meeting required of me, even when
it conflicted with my schedule. Like today, for instance. What is this board meeting, and when was it called? Because it wasn’t on my calendar. But I came when you commanded, just like we agreed.”

  “Never mind that.” She waved her hand, and I realized she’d lied to get me here. There was no meeting.

  Only another manipulation.

  “As much as you like to believe I’m overbearing and malicious, all I have ever done is to protect you. To protect my company. What you believe is exercised control is not to confine you. It is to save you from yourself. I let your father have too much influence, and the result is this.” She gestured to me. “A martyr without the constitution to run Bower. But there’s no choice for either of us. This is what you were born to do. And it’s my job to teach you how. Because you will never, ever survive without my deconstructing what your father has done to you.”

  “What he’s done?” I asked, lungs locked and defenses ringing. “He gave me love. Hope. A heart and a conscience. Only you would see those as liabilities.”

  “Because they are. You are so naive, Margaret. And the only way to teach you is to strip you of what makes you weak.”

  “Of what makes me me. Your answer is to break my spirit? To strip me of the things I want?”

  “You don’t know what you want,” she said.

  “And you do?”

  An angry flush climbed up her neck, her jaw. “Better than you. You will learn to bend. You will learn to kneel. And then you will learn to fight for this company properly, or you will fail miserably.”

  I swallowed my emotion and shook my head, confused. “What does any of this have to do with our bargain? What have I not done? Because from where I’m sitting, I’ve bent just as much as you have.”

  Everything about her hardened, her eyes most of all. “You are keeping something from me.”

  My eyes flicked to the ceiling for the briefest request for divine intervention. “That has nothing to do with what I do for Bower, nor does it apply to our agreement.”

  “I disagree. Your secrets are my secrets, and my secrets have everything to do with Bower. You love to remind me you’re not a child, but the only way to condition you is through the most basic consequences. Time-outs. Earning your rewards. Transparency. You are not allowed secrets because you are not smart or wise enough to be trusted, not even with something so simple as which shoes to wear with that dress.”

  The jab was nothing next to her crooked perspective.

  “How novel that you’d take interest in mothering me now, given that you were absent when it counted. How fascinating that we would fight like a domineering mother and a rebellious teenager. I was always obedient—always. And then you tore my world apart and sent me away.”

  “If your world hadn’t been fairy tales and gullible denial, I wouldn’t have had to tear it apart. I don’t blame you, Margaret. I blame myself for not training you from the start.”

  “Oh, I blame you for so much, but not for who I am.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “It’s my mess to undo, starting with this—I’ve allowed your affair to go on long enough. Either you tell me who you’re seeing or you put an end to it.”

  “You’ve allowed me?” I asked, my voice shaky, low, furious. “I don’t think you’re in a place to give me ultimatums. And while we’re on the topic of transparency, let’s not pretend this has anything to do with the company or whether I’m fit to run it. It’s you who wants to know and for no other reason than I won’t tell you. Does it drive you crazy, not knowing something I do? Does my defiance drive you mad? Because I guarantee you, that will never stop.”

  Her face wrenched in indignation. “I will not have secrets under my roof. If you’re this obstinate, it must be worse than I thought. Tell me who you’re seeing,” she said through her teeth, “or our arrangement is void.”

  My eyes narrowed as I rose from my seat, my body screaming with adrenaline and ready to fight. “If our arrangement is void, I’ll see myself out.”

  “Goddammit, Margaret,” she shouted, slapping the top of her desk loudly enough to jolt me in surprise. “Your future is contingent on my good will. Do you think this is a game? Do you think that I’m bluffing?”

  “You very clearly think I am,” I shot back, unwilling to back down. “And your future is contingent on mine. You think you’re so clever, luring me back with the power to fight you and the charity I love. I’m not the only one who’s naive, Mother, if you truly believe you’ve tricked me into a bigger cage. You still don’t understand that there is no cage. There is no key. The door is open, and so far, I’ve chosen to stay inside. For now. I see you, Mother. But do you see me?”

  A moment of silence.

  “I will find out who you’re seeing and what you’re hiding. And when I do, you should hope that I approve.”

  “I wonder, have you ever gotten anything in your life without a threat?”

  Her nostrils flared.

  “I didn’t think so. Think long and hard about how badly you want me here. Because I will play along for the sake of the company, but I will not be bullied by you.”

  The blaze of anger in me was doused the second I heard those words pass my lips.

  Because they sounded like hers.

  The urge to run pulled me toward the door. Every minute spent locked in battle with her brought me one step closer to becoming the one thing I feared more than anything, even losing Marcus.

  I could not become her. I could not let her shape me in her image.

  Mother fumed. “The little power you think you have is an illusion. You will not leave, nor will you forsake your mother, your duty, your company. All of this was built for you, you spoiled little horror. You did nothing to contribute to this empire that I am handing to you without any of your effort. And if you want it, if you want this kingdom I have constructed, you will do what you’re told. Enjoy your freedom while I deign to give it to you.”

  “I’d be glad to,” I snapped, turning on my heel, waiting for a parting insult that never came.

  Shelby looked concerned as I passed, but she didn’t get up or speak, which was wise. Had my mother, in her rage, heard Shelby utter a word in my direction, she likely would have been fired on the spot.

  Wouldn’t have been the first time.

  I had nearly reached the elevator when it opened, and out spilled Roland, my mother’s accountant. He seemed to be in a rush, his eyes darting around like he had a briefcase full of stolen cash rather than a briefcase full of financial statements. He was so preoccupied, he didn’t see me as he hurried past, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his glistening forehead.

  The most curious thing about the encounter was the question of where the hell he’d gotten a handkerchief.

  Into the elevator I went, heading down to the place I wanted to be, the place I had molded and shaped. I walked into the charity division to remind myself of all the good that could be done, all I’d worked for. I was greeted with that lighthearted cheer that accompanied doing things for others, my meager office awaiting me and my mind shifting to all the ways and steps I could take to make a difference somewhere, anywhere, while I could.

  Because though I could do so much good, it wouldn’t be here. When this lawsuit was over and the Bennets were safe, I would tell her I’d made a choice, and that choice was not Bower. I would walk away from her and into a new life, one that was mine and mine alone.

  And there was nothing she could do to stop me.

  17

  Duh

  MAISIE

  By some divine miracle, I avoided my mother the rest of the afternoon. I made it a point to leave well before her, and rather than take a car, I walked a ways, enjoying the last bit of sunshine and the brush of a cool breeze.

  If I was lucky, I might be able to avoid her until tomorrow.

  Just before the light turned green, the crush of people I found myself in the midst of flowed across the street like a school of tuna. And the feeling it left me with was
blissful normality.

  Little by little, the shine of my mother’s offer had worn off. Less and less was my altruism more important than my happiness, and today, I’d discovered the uncrossable line and stepped over it.

  Every minute I stayed was a minute closer to becoming my mother.

  I reveled in this normality as I walked through the city, craved a quiet life without butlers and cooks and private cars. A charming little apartment with a shoebox for a bedroom. A regular old job where I was nobody instead of somebody.

  Shares or no shares, the more I thought about dealing with my mother for the many years until she retired, the more I knew I wanted to stay in that stream of people and disappear into my own life forever.

  A breeze shot between the buildings as we passed, licking at skirts and bringing hands to stop their hats from tumbling into 8th. And on that breeze came the consequences of me leaving. I thought of all the people at Harvest Center, all those who depended on that place. Sure, there were other kitchens, other places for people to go. But to those who had set down roots and to the community where those roots had spread, closing would be a loss, leaving a gaping hole where something wonderful had once been.

  Because if I knew my mother, she would dismantle Harvest Center the second I left.

  I’d endangered them either way with my affair—Harvest had been placed on the chopping block the moment my mother made it a bargaining chip. And to save it, I’d have to set myself on fire.

  So that would be what I’d have to do. If she shut it down, I’d find a way.

  I’d open another on my own. And to hell with my mother.

  It was Wednesday, which meant dinner out with Dad. Before I left for England, we would go out for greasy fries, burgers, and milkshakes, and whenever we were both in New York, we upheld the tradition. Predictably, Mother despised it, which probably had something to do with our making it a habit. Sometimes, we’d even bring home a takeout bag of oily fries and plop it on her writing desk in the entryway just to piss her off. Which it inevitably did.