Page 18 of Joy to Noel
I give her a taste of her disapproving-head-shake medicine. “You’re twisting what I said. I said I ‘met an interesting girl,’ not, ‘I’m interested in a girl.’”
“I think you’re splitting hairs,” Hana says, grinning. “Which only convinces me more that you’re interested.”
“Our ten-year age gap is showing. Stop being juvenile,” I scoff. “There’s a woman named Madison staying across the way from me. She’s . . . spunky. And she’s starting her own business, so we’ve struck up a sort of competition on who can accomplish more each day.”
Hana facepalms her forehead. “Onlyyoucould get into a productivity competition with someone. And then call that connection.”
“Well, it’s at least making my time here more interesting.”
“Which is where, again?” Hana asks, eyebrow quirked.
I’m saved from skirting her question by Hamlet jumping onto my lap and meowing loudly at Hana’s face on the screen.
“Heya, Ham, you sweet boy,” she says in a high-pitched voice.
“Hana,” I groan, emphasizing the Korean pronunciation of her name, which sounds similar toHan—like Han Solo—followed by anahsound. Hamlet meows along with me. “Just call him ‘Hamlet,’ for goodness’ sake.”
“I’ll stop calling him ‘Ham’ when you tell me where you are and confess your undying love for Madison,” Hana counters.
“I love . . . you. Go to sleep,” I say and end the call with an exaggerated jab at the phone screen.
Chapter ten
Madison
“What can I say? It was the straw that finally broke my back,” I conclude. Syd is wiping tears from the corners of her eyes after laughing so hard, and Becky takes a sip of water to calm the flush in her cheeks. Clara has already heard the story of Ivy’s durian catastrophe—albeit the emotional breakdown version as opposed to the polished comedy sketch.
Davis pats Syd’s back as he says, “Don’t die laughing there, beautiful. I love you too much.”
Clark rolls his eyes at Davis, as though he’s not constantly being just as lovey-dovey with Clara. Now that Becky has her laughter under control, she says, “Well, I’m sorry that you were forced to move, but it’s our gain. We’re glad to have you in Noel, Mads, for however long you can stay.”
I give an appreciative wave in her and James’ direction. “Thanks to you two for giving me an affordable place to stay for now.”
Conversation is interrupted by the delivery of three large pizzas. Every Tuesday night, Clark and Clara have dinner with Davis and Sydney, James and Becky, and Beau and Abby. All the grandparents watch their respective grandkids so the parents can have a weekly get together—a tradition they were kind enough to include me in this week. With an open invitation in the future, although I’ll have to feel out how much of an intrusion I am tonight.
“Abby texted to go ahead and start eating. They’ll be here in five minutes. Beau was late getting home from the factory today,” Syd says,putting her phone down. My ears perk up at her mention of Beau and the factory. How could I casually pull information out of Beau about what Liam is like at work? Strictly in the name of our competition.
Today was technically a very productive day for me—I opened a business bank account, which took far longer than I’d anticipated. I also enrolled in an online course to brush up on the Chicago Manual of Style guidelines, since we followed the Associated Press Style rules at WritInc. If I’m going to get hired to proofread books—both nonfiction and fiction—I’ll need to switch my brain to Chicago Manual mode.
I also emailed the friend who’s working on designs for me, plus revamped my résumé to be ready for use on my website. But while those were all crucial tasks, I’m worried that Liam will come home today waving a smoking gun of productivity.
Not being around tonight to compare notes with him is the one downside to saying yes to this group dinner. But maybe an inside scoop from Beau will counterbalance that downside.
We begin the process of serving pizza slices onto plates. Syd makes a big show of waving her olive-laden pizza in front of Clark and Clara, who both dramatically crinkle their noses in disgust. Abby and Beau join the table with a flurry of greetings and grab their own slices of pizza.
I don’t even have to lead the way in prying information out of Beau—Davis is on the ball with questions to satisfy my curiosity. Davis asks Beau, “How’s it going with the new corporate guy? What’s he like?”
Yes, Beau. What is Liam like at work?
Beau swallows a bite before answering. “To be determined, I guess. He’s very direct and gets straight to the point with his questions and observations.”
Syd chuckles and says, “Well, that’s not very Southern of him, is it? Someone needs to tell him to beat around the bush and politely back his way into pointed questions.”
Everyone laughs in response, and Beau says, “Yeah, it’s a bit of a culture mismatch, for sure. Then again, every time he asks a pointed question or makes a critical observation, it makes me realize how screwed up things are. I thought everyone would seamlessly pick uptheir new roles at this facility after working at the meat-packing plant in the past, but it’s a totally different operation.”
There’s a collective murmur of understanding and support from the group. I’m somewhat shocked when Clark is the next person to voluntarily speak up. “But he—what’s his name again?”
“Liam Park,” I interject. Eight pairs of eyes look my way.
