Chapter 5

“GET UP!” My mother’s voice boomed up the stairs, echoing off the high ceilings. I hated the high ceilings; all they did was make me feel as If I’d gone bonkers when I woke up. It’d take me a minute to locate them and when I did, I had a crick in my neck from searching for the corner of the room.

“5 more minutes.” I groaned, turning my head towards the warmth of the pillow my head was resting on.

“It’s 12 o’clock. I still have to give you instructions and you have to get ready and eat, and then it’s a 30 minute drive. I’d advise you to get up or I’ll get the cold water.” My mother said, growling.

I darted up, taking her threat seriously. She’s done it before. Twice actually, once when I was in middle school and she didn’t know I was up the whole night crying and she woke me up by doing that and then a few weeks ago when I refused to get up. I ran to the bathroom, taking my warm shower, lathering my hair with vanilla shampoo, conditioner and matching soap.

I looked at my closet in pure curiosity. I yanked up my towel, wriggling a bit at the dampness of it. What to wear? I’ll push my mother’s suggestion away for now. I grabbed my pitch black skinny jeans and a dark blue dress shirt, and a black blazer atop of it. I know, disobeying my mother- but it still was better than a -shudder- skirt. In 2nd grade, I wore a skirt, a pretty skirt if you ask me. I was jumping around at recess like the hyper active child I was when suddenly Ben Miller ran up behind me and lifted it up, revealing my ‘Hello Kitty’ underwear that I begged my mother to buy. I wish I just went with pants that day.

I placed my damp hair into a sloppy but neat bun, grabbing my mascara and applying it thoroughly to each of my eyes. I placed a scarf around my neck, more for weather purposes but it went well with the style. I slipped into dark blue heels, and added gray hoop earrings into my ears. I grabbed my iPhone and faux scale purse. I hated how they hurt animals and created products with their remains. It’s gross if you ask me, wearing a dead animal.

I slipped into the living room, where my mother was on the phone. She turned towards me when she hung up and smiled brightly.

“You… didn’t follow my rules.” She said, glancing at my outfit. I bit my lip nervously as she examined my outfit.

“I guess…You look fine, c’mon.” She said, slamming me onto the couch. She handed me a clip board with at least 20 pieces of typed paper. I gave her a somewhat shocked look? What is she going to be asking her? Is this going to be like 20,000 questions?

“That’s 20 surveys for what they want each room to look like.” She spoke, catching me off guard.

“20 rooms?!” I asked, shocked. She nodded. Were these people rich? No, you dimwit. No need to be mean.

“They only want to do 20; the other ones aren’t used as much.” She said, shrugging. I looked at my mother as if she was crazy. My house had 19 rooms, bathrooms and the main rooms included.

“But yes, when I ask a question, you answer it with her exact words- unless she starts blabbering, then you write mainly what she says. For example- if she says ‘But yes, my daughters favorite color is pink. She had a pink bicycle once in which she fell off of and needed 23 stitches.’ What would you take out of that sentence?” My mother asked.

“That her daughter likes pink.” I said it like it was a question rather than a sentence. She didn’t seem to care, though. At least I got one right. My mother nodded, smiling.

“What about this one? ‘Jacob likes red and green, but he doesn’t like neon. He had neon braces before and they called him laser teeth. He also has a brown bunk bed that he loves, so we aren’t getting rid of that.’” My mother spoke.

“We need brown furniture to match the bunk bed, and we need duller red and greens.” I said more confidently, smiling. She nodded, grinning widely and proudly.

“Great! Ooh! Let’s go!” My mother said, glancing nervously at her watch. She began racing out of the house, with a mug filled with coffee, a briefcase, and her heels clacking. I followed not too far behind her.

“Who are your clients again?” I asked while flipping through the papers on my lap anxiously.

“Patricia and Oliver.” My mother answered quickly, pulling up to a large house- it wasn’t even classified as a house, was it? If it had more than 20 rooms- it was a mansion.  

“So tell me again what I’m doing.” I said, turning towards her as she quickly shut her car off. I glanced at my phone that was in my hand. 3:54P.M.

“You’re writing down what they say.” My mother said, groaning in frustration.

“Mom, it’s okay. I can do it.” I said, annoyed at her lack of confidence in me.

“Let’s go.” My mother said, pasting on her signature smile. I nodded, grabbing my bag out of the car, and slipping out into the nippy air. I shivered before pulling my blazer tighter over my arms. Our heels clacked in sync, which annoyed me so I stopped and continued- messing up the synchronization. My mother didn’t seem to care or notice. She reached the door, extending her French Tipped hand that was balled into a fist to knock.

“Hello.” A man said, smiling widely as he opened the door.

“Come in!” He said, kindly, smiling at me and my mother, widening the gap for us to enter.

“I’m Oliver, the husband of Patricia.” He said, once he closed the door.

“I’m Vanessa Perkins and this is my daughter Maverly.” My mother spoke, grinning.

“Great. My wife should be here in a minute, until then- make yourselves at home. She’s going to do all of the talking, I just stand around making sure he she doesn’t extend the budget too much!” He said, jokingly. My mother replied with a laugh, keeping a lightly conversation between the two before it slowly faded off and he turned his gaze towards me.

“I have a son your age!” Oliver said, turning towards me. I smiled. “What’s his name?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“His name is-.“ He began but was cut off from his wife who walked into the room. For whatever reason, it annoyed me that he just stopped mid-sentence.  

 “I’m Patricia! You can call me Patty,” She said, extending a hand to my mother, who took it with a large smile sitting upon her face. I’m told that I look like my mother.

“Vanessa Perkins, Interior Designer.” My mother replied, smiling as well.

“I’m Maverly.” I announced awkwardly as she grabbed my hand in her small, fragile one. She had one heck of a handshake, might I add.

“It’s nice to meet you, Maverly, Vanessa. Let’s get down to business.” She said, smiling lightly. She brushed her dirty blonde hair out of her face with her index finger and thumb.

“So this living room will be gray and burgundy, with hints of black here and there. I would like the pillows to stand out and the couch should be thin and not bulgy, that’s unattractive and unprofessional. I’d like a rug, as well with paintings that stand out as well. As you can see, this room is pretty dull.” Patty spoke, pointing along the walls and hard wood floor as she spoke.

I wrote everything neatly but quickly, making sure to get every detail included. As we moved onto the kitchen, my hand was cramping but I quickly fixed that problem by wringing my hands together repeatedly. She explained everything in so much detail. As we got to the second to last room, my hand was partly numb and I felt like it was going to drop off of my arm any minute. How did Maria do this for a job? She probably recorded it and went back to it later, idiot. Stop harassing me, conscious!

We’d already done 2 bathrooms, 1 kitchen, 2 living rooms, their bedroom, 5 guest rooms, a dining room, a game room, a computer room, a conference room, a walk in closet, a basement, and a coat room.

Patty knocked on the door and a sleepy groan escaped from the other side, echoing loudly. I thought I heard him say something along the lines of ‘Go away, Mom,’ but my ears could be deceiving me.

“Excuse my son, he’s asleep still.” She said sounding embarrassed.

“Oh please, my daughter will sleep all day if you let her.” My mother said, grinning. Surprisingly, the two women laughed. They were real laughs and not those ‘Kill me now’ type of laughs.

“Yeah, do you think you can come back tomorrow and interview him? He wants his room his way this time. He said that last time I made it ‘too girlie’ and his bathroom also needs redecorating.” She said, hopefully.

“I can’t. I’m so sorry. But…” Cue my mother’s pleading looks toward me. I immediately gave in.

“Sure.” I muttered. If I would’ve put up a fight then I would’ve been grounded for a very long time.

“Thank you, Maverly. My daughter could do it if you’d like.” My mother insisted.

“As long as you don’t try anything on my son. A pretty lady like you makes me nervous for my son.” Patty said, grinning and winking.

“I won’t.” I said, turning bright red. Did she just say that? Ha, she’s funny.

“Okay. Well, that’s all there is. You can stay for coffee if you’d like.” Patty offered, smiling hopefully.

“Sure.” My mother said, smiling.
___

“What school do you attend, Maverly?” Oliver asked, smiling.

“I go to Morrison High.” I replied, blinking. I stirred the cup of coffee with the fancy red stirring straw.

“Daniel goes there, too. Do you like it?” Oliver said.

“Yes, very much.” I replied. I scraped along my mind thinking of a Daniel that I know. There was a Danny in senior year. That could be him. I glanced at Oliver and Patricia, thinking back to Daniel who looked nothing like the two. He was a red head, a ginger, and he had dark brown eyes.

“Where do you fit in with the groups of High School?” Oliver questioned.

“I’m... uh… an average, I guess. I like to study but not enough to be classified as a ‘geek’ or ‘nerd’ and I don’t play sports, so ‘jock’ or ‘cheerleader’ is out, and I’m not a partier or skater. So I’m not ‘wild.” I replied, shrugging. They nodded in approval.

“Do you like the Mall?” Patty asked, leaning closer to me.

“Love it. I actually go there often." I replied. It was the truth. I mainly liked it for their amazing arcade on the 2nd floor. I also love the food court, but I seem guy like whenever I say that.

"That's great!" Patty said, continuing conversation with my mother. I just sat there imagining what my future would be like. Would I like comfortably or would I be rich? Probably comfortable. Will I be happy? Definitely, maybe not always, but most of the time. And isn't that what matters?

___

The drive home was quiet, though I knew my mother was proud of me. She trusted me to go to the most sacred place of her work- a client’s home, and not just any client. The clients, the one she’d been keeping her eyes on since the days when I first learned to walk. Since the day the company was given to her, being a plain furniture company at first- she changed it up- making her own furniture and offering to redo their homes, soon she remade the company into an interior design studio- but they still sold furniture. She couldn’t rip out the little shreds that my great grandpa has sewn into the company.