Page 9 of Afternoon Delight
“She had someone quit right before Christmas.” Right when Georgia might’ve made enough to sustain herself a little longer. “I guess it was getting awkward with the landlord. He owns the whole building and works at the antique shop next door.”
I didn’t mention Zak. He wasn’t the reason I was doing this, and I didn’t want Mom jumping to conclusions. Sure, I’d been married for over twenty years to the man who took my V-card, but as far as she was concerned, I was incapable of keeping it in my pants.
“I guess he has dementia. He walks in, then gets upset that it’s not the fabric store that was there ten years ago.”
“Oh, that’s sad. Does he have family to help?”
“His kids, yeah. They gave Georgia a break on rent for January, but they’ve been texting, asking what she plans to do. When she moved back here to open that shop, she thought it would support her for the next twenty years. Then she could sell it when she retired.”
“That’s optimistic.”
“Not really. Sex doesn’t go out of style. Some of us grow out of it, but it’s always popular with the kids.”
“And it produces the next generation of customers,” Mom mused. “It’s actually the perfect business model.”
I chuckled, relieved. If Mom was making jokes, she was coming around.
“Is there nothing we can do for her on the financial side instead?” she asked. “How much does she need?”
I groaned inwardly, wishing I could parlay helping Georgia into selling this house.
“I offered her money and said I could talk to the bank for her.” Helping small businesses rejig their finances was something I did all day, every day. I firmly believed the biggest reason I’d been passed over for the promotion was because I was too valuable at the client-facing grunt work. Clients loved me for my reassuring voice and my bossy ability to impose order onto chaos.
“You know what she’s like, though. She doesn’t want to need help. She wants to fix it herself—and can’t.”
It had been really hard to see Georgia chewing on so much frustration and despair, never having expected her body to let her down. When she said she didn’t want to be forty and starting from scratch, I’d almost said, I’m turning forty and starting from scratch.
Not total scratch, obviously, but when I looked back on the last twenty years, I had to wonder what I’d done with my life. I love my kids. I’d die for them. But I could see how I had repeatedly settled back into my safe little rut—my comfortable job where I was overlooked and taken for granted.
“I wish I’d had an ounce of Georgia in me when they told me that Cameron—the guy I trained—was going to be my new manager. I should’ve told them to go fuck themselves.”
“Meg,” Mom murmured in protest at my curse. “What if Georgia can’t walk again?” Her brows came together in worry.
“I’m confident she’ll walk through the door of the shop within a few months and pick up where she left off. But she can’t let it languish. She has to pay her bills.”
Mom sighed and rose, moving to the plate cupboard.
I held my breath, wanting her approval even though I knew I wouldn’t get it.
“We’re really doing this?”
“We?” Record scratch. “You want to work in an adult toy shop, Mom?”
“No. But I can’t let you risk Georgia’s future along with your own.” She set two plates on the counter.
“I’ve worked retail. I can handle it.” I got up to get the cutlery.
“No, you’re running her business. That’s not as easy as it sounds. I know from running your father’s office.” She handed me the bowl of salad.
“I did the books for Joel’s dental clinic!” I had hired and fired most of his staff. I had designed his website and maintained it right up until I emailed Wanda four days ago with the login credentials. “I’m an accountant, Mom. I work with small businesses every day. I know how they run. I know what they need.”
“Do you know what her clients need?” she asked condescendingly.
“I like to think I’m intelligent enough to learn. Why? Are you offering to help? Tell me about your vast experience taking Dad’s dictation.”
She paused mid-jab, her serrated knife buried in the lasagna. “Don’t be crass.”
“I’m just saying, don’t rush to help. Think about it first. Long and hard.”
