Page 50 of This Is How It Started
Legally Blonde
It’s been six days since any work has been done on the pool house. No one, not even the guy who eventually came to tarp the roof (a little late, fellow), has been back. Kyle has stopped answering my calls. And I’m almost certain he’s blocked my texts. I’ve left repeated messages at Bleu Construction, including a threat of legal action, all of which have gone ignored.
Apparently this is not uncommon in the construction world. My mother, who appears to be over her snit about me living with Brooke, swears all contractors have attention deficit disorder.
“What do we do now?” I ask Brooke, who’s painting her toenails while watching television in the den.
“Find someone else, I guess. What we’re not doing is paying Bleu. Fuck them.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Brooke use the F-word, and I kind of like it.
“Okay, do you have anyone from your original list I can contact?” Considering the shortage of contractors, it won’t be easy finding someone to take over the job in the eleventh hour.
“Bleu was it. You’ve got to have some good contacts.”
Wrong. The people Josh dealt with specialized in commercial buildouts. Restaurants, retail stores, tech companies. None of them would stoop so low as to take on our five-hundred-square-foot pool house redux. Chip might know of someone, but the likelihood of anyone being available at this very moment is about as good as me getting a reservation at the French Laundry before summer.
“I’ll see what I can do, Brooke. But I’m not optimistic.”
She looks up from her feet. “I’ve got it rented out for most of April. So if we have to do it ourselves...” She flashes me a tight smile that in the immortal words of Tim Gunn says, “Make it work.”
Jeez, the woman is relentless. But she hasn’t once so much as hinted that I’m reaching my expiration date here at Chateau Sharing Economy, even though she could probably sublet my bedroom.
“I’ll soldier on,” I tell her. “I have to say, you’re really taking preserving Dad’s legacy to the next level.” I’m still befuddled about why.
We’ve been nothing but dismissive of her. Not overtly, mind you. But we made it clear that she wasn’t accepted. That came in various forms but most notably that we rejected any and all invitations from my father that included Brooke. That meant that all holidays were spent with Mom and that my dad had to leave Brooke out if he wanted us to go on any family vacations with him. For a while after the breakup, in solidarity with Mom, he was dead to us. But at the end of the day, he was still our father, the man who brought us onto this earth, kissed our booboos, and was there for every one of our milestones. In other words, we took him back. And there’s not a day that goes by since he died that I don’t wish we hadn’t wasted time disowning him, even if it was only for a short time.
“You going out?” Brooke eyes my outfit, a pair of good jeans, a cashmere sweater that I’ve never worn before and my favorite boots. Compared to my usual attire, yoga pants and hoodies, I’m dressed up.
“Adam and I are going to dinner.” It occurs to me that I should invite her, but I don’t, telling myself that Adam wouldn’t like it and that it would eventually get back to my mother. The real reason, though, is that I’m not quite ready to face the possibility of an inconvenient truth. Brooke may have actually been in love with our father.
“Have a nice time.” She waves, then goes back to her pedicure.
I meet Adam at the foot of the driveway. It’s a nice evening, and I can use the exercise, such as it is. But mostly I know Adam would want me to save him from having to run into Brooke. Thank goodness she’s gone most of the time, working, or I’d never get to see my brother.
Our dinner date is ostensibly to celebrate my first home sale since Josh died. Yes, Campbell and Jess got the house. Yay! The second runner up came in two thousand dollars behind them. So Niki, bless her bitchy heart, was right on the money.
If I’m being completely honest, the news of them getting it was bittersweet. On one hand, it made me ache for Josh. This could’ve been us buying our first house together. On the other hand, it made me proud that I could do this for Campbell. He wanted the house so badly I could feel his excitement as if it was my own. Yet a part of me (and it doesn’t make me feel good to admit this) is jealous. Jealous that he gets the happily ever after and I don’t.
Adam squeals up to the driveway and slams on his brakes. “Why are you waiting here?” he asks as I get in his car.
I cock my head at the house.
“The child widow is home?”
“She’s home, and while it wouldn’t kill you to say hello, I decided that because you’re paying for dinner, I would cut you some slack.”
“I’m paying for dinner? You’re the one with a big fat commission check.”
“You’re the one selling a multi-million-dollar business. Why’s it taking so long, by the way?”
“It’s not. We’re done.”
My mouth goes slack. “When? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I’m telling you now.” He hangs a U-turn. “Where do you want to go?”
“Do Mom and Hannah know?”
