Page 117 of The Tenth Muse

My father is probably the only person alive with a landline still in his home but he refuses to get rid of it, and Truman Corsetti will not hear criticism until the day he’s six feet under. Especially not when it comes to the plans he has so carefully strategized to guarantee his future and legacy. Hell, I’m sure the man will leave me a detailed outline of how to conduct myself for the next twenty to thirty years if I’m to receive his inheritance.

I don’t want his money. In fact I’d rather run off into the woods and disappear, but the words themselves would probablysend the man into an early grave and if anything, I’d rather keep the asshole alive. Mourning the death of a parent is not for the weak.

I know, I’ve already done it once.

My mother was taken too soon, she was sick, the doctors couldn’t figure it out and before we all expected, she was gone, and I wasn’t even six years old.

That’s when Daddy hired Williams to watch over me. An over glorified nanny slash personal assistant who didn’t even like children, only the prospect of political advancement by working for my father–who at the time was governor. He stuck around far too long, exhausting his novelty and becoming a permanent fixture in our home.

I’m twenty five, far too old to be babysat, so Williams is more like a prison guard than a caretaker these days. He follows my father around like a lost puppy, interjecting himself into my life at the first sign of demand.

“You know what we tell you. And this is what we are telling you,now.” Williams educates me in his snobbiest tone. “We’ve allowed you to divert from your father’s plan the last six years, let you goof off in that school enough to get your little degrees.” He clears his throat with a dry cough when my father doesn’t interject. “Enough is enough, it’s time for you to play the part needed of you.”

“What do–” My father doesn’t let me get a word in.

“Meaning, find employment in your field, or I will find you a husband by the time the campaign begins.”

“That’s in two weeks! That’s too soon to apply and interview. Most reputable research centers looking for a botanist will need days to run a background check and look into my credentials, Daddy. It isn’t enough time. Not with the way things are, no one is hiring, or looking.”

“Looks like a husband was the smarter choice then, too bad you wasted all that time in school.” Williams says with a curt tone.

I hear the line click, letting me know my father is no longer listening. “Is this for real?”

I don’t know why I bother asking, at the end of the day I know Williams is the one whispering these plans directly into his ear. He is my father’s manipulator now, the puppet master, having been too long in this house. Williams is the son he had always wanted for but never had a chance to get before my mother died.

“Your father doesn’t make idle threats, Meri. I told you if you didn’t have a plan when you came home from college that we’d have one for you.” Williams is sour at the mention of college, recalling the memory of his anger when my father let me go across the country for education.

Far from his insidious reach.

It’s been three weeks since I’ve been home now, scouring the city for job postings and leads, doing my best to evade Williams’ constantly looming shadow. It’s suffocating, I had forgotten just how badly it felt then, why I so desperately had yearned to escape to a school thousands of miles away.

I know he’s hoping for the latter, but I pretend like this is a phone call between two people who tolerate each other. “I’ll find something, the city is big, there’s dozens of research centers, at least thirty labs and if all else fails I’ll go to the schools for employment.” The assurance is for me, not him.

I’m trying to convince myself. A master’s in plant biology wasn’t part of my father’s plans, but I promised I’d make use of my silly obsession and that a daughter in STEM was sure to look great in a campaign.

Neither of them will give me the time or grace to make good on that promise. My father wants me on my knees for some man, and Williams is dead set on becoming that man.

The only thing I’m good for, according to him.

He’s been in office practically my entire life. My mother married the mayor, but by the time she died he was already the governor. Two terms and he was a shoe-in for the senate, the man practically ran undisputed. Now as his second term comes to an end he’ll run for Senator a third time before going for the guaranteed gold–presidency.

“America,” Williams cuts in before I get a chance to hang up, “I made you an appointment at the hairdresser. Your father needs your hair fixed before the fundraiser dinner. I’m sending it to your calendar now.”

I clench down on my molars to keep from responding in some way that I’ll eventually regret. My father doesn’t give a damn about my pink hair, but I know that Williams does. My father only gives a damn about a wedding.

Publicity.

Marriage is the only thing I can offer in his eyes. My degrees, my accomplishments, none of my accolades mean anything to him. Not when it comes to the future president. Daddy wants me dumb, pretty and silent for photos, unable to stir up a scandal or outrage while sitting next to a man who will someday give him the perfect grandchild.

Except, I don’t give a damn about politics, children or men. I just want to grow plants. I just want to stick my hands in dirt and get to spend my time with the things I love most. I’ve never had a bad day–not when I got to spend it touching plants.

I pull up the first job opening; lab assistant, minimum wage for five years of experience. What a joke. I think about submitting my resume anyway, my favorite professor once told me to never apply for anything I was overqualified for, this felt like such a case. I don’t go through with it, the request for a cover letter forces me to close the browser and instead I pull up social media.

There’s a kitschy little witch-shop with a small following on my feed. The page saysThe Portaland when I click, it looks like they’re on the west end of town. There’s a few dozen photos, black walls, lots of eclectic art and all types of oddities from taxidermied rats to hand painted portraits of a goat-man. The most recent posts, though, have gone viral.

They’re all of the same subject, varying photos and videos with different angles.

All of a plant.

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