Page 11 of Glass & Groundwork
The studio would be big enough I could even have an apprentice or a team of people to help with bigger projects that would need two or three sets of hands. I could picture it. Teaching and coaching all while creating beautiful masterpieces. The potential of the place buzzed through me, and made it hard for me to pull myself away. Pull myself away, I must, as I had other tasks to handle.
Specifically, the money task. I’d been so caught up in the start of the construction, that I put it off. A day turned into a week, and a week turned into almost a month, all the while it loomed over me. It wasn’t that I didn’t have it, or was trying to string the construction company along, I just knew the money would come withstrings. I let it linger until I could no longer avoid it, knowing the next payment would be needed soon in order for the work to continue. I couldn’t stop now that it had started, and I needed to see it through. Besides, I had contracts to hold me accountable, and there was no way I would allow those to be in danger.
After checking in for the day, I decided it was time to make the drive out to the family bank in Orange County. I had my own bank for my personal accounts, of course, but the trust could only be handled at a specific location. Talking to the account manager would automatically flag my parents, which was part of what made me put it off until I had to be forced to go. Conversations about money with my parents always went the same direction and I dreaded hearing the lectures again.
With a stop at home, I pushed all my retro clothes aside to dig out a suit from the back, still covered in plastic from the dry cleaners. My entire body grimaced as I buttoned the top button of the white dress shirt, and worked the knot in my tie. In the suit pants and jacket, I felt like I was being constricted from head to toe. It was suffocating, stifling, but I knew it would be in my best interest to show up looking as serious as possible. I changed my septum ring to a clear spacer so it wouldn’t be visible, hating the need to conform to someone else's standards.
My wavy curls were held back by an elastic headband that had navy flowers in it to match the color of the suit. It was the only thing that kept me tethered to myself in an outfit that was decidedlynotme. I would get side-eye for it, but at least my hair would be out of my face which was often a complaint I would hear.
The long drive was made longer by accidents and debris on the freeway, and I began to feel like time was slowing down as I approached the event horizon of a black hole. It was drawing me in and I knew it would take everything I had to be able to pull myself back out. The shop. The shop was my anchor, it would keep me from getting sucked in.
When I arrived at the bank, I sat in my Jeep as I prepared myself to walk back into a life I was trying so hard to leave behind. After the moment I allowed myself, I got out, smoothed out my jacket and pants, and walked toward the door. It wasn't abig chain branch, but a smaller one that catered to elite clientele who required more care and unique circumstances, such as my trust account. The trust was the portion that had been allotted to me from the family business. I had a love-hate relationship with it.
On one hand, there was the comfort of financial security that would allow me to weather almost any storm. However, it was the biggest tool my parents had to use against me. They retained control over the account unless I agreed to work for the family company or a major life change occurred. Marriage—mine—or death or incapacitation—theirs. Until one of those things happened, I received an annual allotment, with the terms of the account written to say that they could withhold funds if they deemed it necessary.
They held the purse strings and dangled them in front of me to keep me in line. I was fourteen when I first understood what that meant. I toed the line between obedience and self-will, finding clothing to be a rebellion that earned me eye rolls and disappointment but didn't give them enough reason to take my name off the trust.
Every big decision in my adult life came with weighing the possible consequences, and ultimately trying to find a way to satisfy my parents while staying true to who I was. Not now, though. This was purely for me, for my wishes and dreams and future. I could manage a future without the safety net if I had to, it would be an adjustment, but I could do it, I just needed this one final transfer.
“Welcome back, Mr. Maldonado, it's good to see you. I didn't expect you until January.” The door man dipped his head as he held the door for me. The man had to be approaching eighty but was as quick as a whip. He'd been the door man here for as long as I could remember.
“Thanks, Bert. It's good to see you, too. I'm a little early, I suppose.” A fewmonthsearly. January was when I would come in and sign for my annual release of funds. “I need to speak with my account manager, please.”
“I believe Mrs. Lewis is with a client, but I'll let her know you're here.”
“Thanks, Bert. You're the best.”
The old man walked with a gait that didn’t relay the urgency I felt. I found a seat in the lobby, and silently wished to speed him up. Not that his reaching my accountant would make her finish with her client any faster, but now that I was here, I was anxious to get it done and get out as quickly as possible. My knee bounced uncontrollably as I sat there waiting.
After what felt like hours, but was probably less than one, a door opened. Except… it wasn’t the office door I’d been waiting for, it was Bert opening the front door and greeting my parents.Fuuuuuck!I was hoping for a civil conversation with the account manager, but instead, she must have called my parents for this unscheduled visit, making me feel like I was a kid at the principal’s office.
My father’s face was unreadable, but my mom was never very good at hiding her feelings. Disappointment and anger were the only cracks in her perfect makeup. I stood and wiped my hands down my pants, trying to dry the sudden clamminess.
“Hi, Mother.” I greeted her as she approached, and kissed her cheek. When I held my hand out to my father, he simply stared at it floating between us, as if he couldn't be bothered to shake it, and I slowly lowered it.Fuck, this was not off to a good start.
“Jasper, you should have called,” was my mother’s response to my greeting. No “Hi, how are you? You look well. It’s nice to see you.”
“I got called out of a meeting,Son. Do you know what that means?” My father’s stern voice made me want to shrink in on myself.
My shoulders hunched as I stuck my hands in my pocket, playing with my keys for something to do. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend for that to happen. I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Lewis, but didn’t expect she would call you.”
“Of course, Meredith called, it’s in our agreement.” My mother pulled her phone out and sent a quick text.
Meredith. Right, they knew each other well and ran in the same circles. I should have known it would only take a text or a quick call to summon the parents.
My mother tucked her phone away and looked up at me. Her eyes roamed upward to my headband with a grimace before returning to meet my gaze. “Before we waste her time, why don’t you tell us why you’re here?”
This was exactly what I didn’t want to happen, but I needed to step my ass up in order to see this thing through. I rolled my shoulders back and lifted my chin, trying to portray strength I didn’t feel at the moment.
My mouth had gone completely dry. Why was talking to them so difficult? Swallowing to try to create some saliva, I said, “I found a place.”
“A place? I thought you already had an apartment. Are you moving, Son? Are you coming back to civilization?” My father asked with slight interest as if I lived in the barren lands of Death Valley.
I shook my head and tried again. “No, no I’m not moving. It’s for my studio. I found a place with an ideal location, perfect for what I want.”
One of my mother’s pointed brows arched high. “Oh. You’re still on about that. I thought you would have moved on by now.”
To her credit, when I was younger, I’d had a few different passions I pursued but eventually grew tired of. However, this wasn’t going to end the same way. Each thing I’d tried in the past gave me a fraction of satisfaction, an outlet for my creativity, but it didn’t hit all the holes in my heart that glass filled. This was different, I would see it through to the end. I wouldn’t give up on it, couldn’t.
