Fight or Flight(32)
We had a glass reception desk, chosen so that it would seem to almost disappear into the room, but it was only for show. There was a bell that sounded in each of our offices when someone entered our reception area, and one of us would go out and greet the client. Stella didn’t see any point in wasting money on a full-time receptionist when most of our clients came in by appointment.
The great thing about our location on Beacon Street was that I could walk there from my apartment in less than ten minutes.
As I strolled into the office, relief flooding me at being home, my cell rang. Of course it did. I sighed, digging through my purse to locate it. Not even two seconds into the place and my clients needed my attention already.
However, caller ID told me it was my uncle David, not a client. “Good morning,” I said as a greeting, always happy to hear from him.
“Good morning, sweetheart. Just checking in to make sure you got home okay.”
It must have been the stress of the last few days, but his words caused a burn of tears in the back of my eyes. Grateful for his concern, I smiled. “I’m home, safe and sound. Just walked into the office, in fact.”
“And you’re okay?”
Here was the thing that you needed to know about my family. My childhood had been tumultuous since my parents didn’t really know what to do with a kid. They’d wanted one, but when they got me, they seemed to flounder. They were never outright unkind to me; they also never provided me with any real affection, beyond whatever they gave to anyone else. Their philosophy was to let me find my way, believing it would make me a freer, more independent person. They also didn’t believe in grudges or arguments. So when I was bullied in the seventh grade, they told me to just forgive Amanda Pointer for pushing me facedown in the dirt until I almost passed out, and get over it.
I could have been out smoking dope and stealing cars, and they would have shrugged it off as me “trying to find myself.” They knew very little about my personality, never taking the time to get to know me, and the only compliments they ever gave me were on my physical appearance.
One bright light in my upbringing was my uncle David, my mom’s big brother. He was totally different from my mom, and he disapproved of the way they brought me up. I’d heard him attempting to say so to my mom when he visited, and my mom would tell him they didn’t invite negativity into the house. I knew she and my dad frustrated my uncle to the point of real anger, but he still visited whenever he could to check up on me.
He even sent me money when I attended Savannah College of Art and Design. With his support, and with Nick and Gem only a few hours away studying at Georgia State, college had been the happiest time in my life. A year after graduation, however, after I’d been convinced to move back to Phoenix, the two people I trusted the most destroyed my faith and broke my heart. It was my uncle who stepped in to help me pick up the pieces. He insisted I move out to Boston to stay with him and his wife while I got on my feet. I’d been working as an intern with an interior design company, so my hope was to find a new position with another company. My uncle was a successful accountant and I convinced him to let me redo his office so I could add it to my small portfolio. Instead, Stella Larson noted the changes on her next visit to my uncle’s office and inquired about it. Being the super supportive guy he was, my uncle waxed poetic about me to her and got me an interview. Seven years later the rest was history.
It wasn’t the only time my uncle David had come through for me. He was also the reason Harper got a chance at Canterbury. Jason Luton was not only his client, but they’d become friends, and I asked him to ask Jason to give Harper a shot as an apprentice chef when she was nineteen.
My uncle was semiretired and lived in a beautiful house in Hyde Park. One they didn’t stay in that often because his wife liked to travel. Still, Uncle David stayed in touch as much as possible. And I knew he’d been worried about me after the news broke of Gem’s passing.
“I’m fine,” I replied, strolling past Stella’s office and waving to her as she looked up from her computer. My office was just as I’d left it—spic and span. All my work put away and organized. It didn’t look like that normally. It was the one personal space of mine that was usually covered in drawings, fabrics, photographs, and papers. “I’m just glad to be home.”
“I would have dropped by, but we’re in New York. When we get back, let’s have dinner.”
“I’d like that.”
“And how is my sister?” he asked, almost reluctantly.
“The same.”
He grunted. “Okay. Well, I’ll let you get back to work. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
We hung up and I slumped into my chair, looking around my office, preparing myself. First coffee. Leaving my bag and phone at my desk, I headed back toward reception and to the fancy coffee machine that had taken me months to figure out how to use correctly.
“Welcome back.”
I glanced over my shoulder and spotted Stella leaning against the doorway to reception with her arms crossed over her chest. She wore a white blouse with balloon sleeves tucked into an oyster pink pencil skirt. On her feet, nude patent Louboutins. I could admit I may have modeled my own style on hers, because I thought she was pure class.
Her dark brown hair was cut short and blunt so that the shiny ends touched her chin. She had it tucked behind her right ear, revealing a large diamond stud. Her dark eyes were filled with concern.