Page 5 of When We Were More
“Please don’t call me ma’am. I’m sure I’m not older than you. I appreciate that you’re trying to be polite, but you can call me Tillie.”
He peeks down at the clipboard he’s holding, then brings those gorgeous eyes back up to meet my gaze.
“Ms. Evans, I’m Henry from Aron Family Builders and Restoration. I’m here to follow up on your concerns.”
“It’s Tillie. Not ma’am, not Ms. Evans.” It strikes me that he’s probably a supervisor or foreman sent out to do these kinds ofcalls. “You’re Henry… where is Holden? I told the lady on the phone—who was quite rude, by the way—that I wanted to speak with someone in authority. Preferably, Holden.”
A flicker of irritation flashes across his face, but it quickly disappears.
“He’s unable to come right now, and he typically isn’t involved in this part of the business.”
I tilt my head and frown at him.
“Hmm, too bad. I liked him.”
I notice that the hand holding his clipboard is gripping it tightly, his fingers pale from squeezing it. I must be irritating him. Good. That’ll teach him to show up unannounced and interrupt my planned dinner of PB and J.
“May I talk with you about your concerns?” His tone has an edge to it now.
For someone tasked with following up on grievance calls, his fuse is a little short.
“Well, first of all, I would like to be clear that this isn’t a concern. It’s a complaint. “
His jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow. He barely nods, acknowledging my words. I swear it pains him to do it.
“Also, I’m not trying to be abrasive, but do you make it a habit of showing up unannounced and uninvited at women’s houses? In the evening?” Oh, I do sound like a bitch right now, but he’s in the wrong. Plus, I’m hangry.
Henry clears his throat and stares at me for long enough that it becomes uncomfortable and earns a rise out of me. I cross my arms over my chest and hold my ground. I’m not going to be intimidated by this man.
“No,ma’am,I do not. But my receptionist indicated that you were pretty worked up when you called, and she thought it might be best if somebody got back to you tonight.”
Worked up?I wonder if those are her words or his. I don’t say anything to him, but I mimic holding a phone up to my ear as if to say, ‘How about a call?’
A sigh escapes him, one I’m sure he didn’t mean for me to hear. I decide I’ve had enough. I’ll show him the bathroom and get it over with.
“Fine, come in and I’ll tell you my first issue.” I step back into the foyer and make room for him to walk in and immediately launch into my list of complaints. “When I got home today, there were two soda cans and a paper lunch bag discarded in my driveway, as if it were a garbage can. I would expect your men to clean up after themselves when they’re here working.” He’s putting on shoe covers, which I appreciate, so he’s not looking at me, and that’s annoying. “There were also three cigarette butts out there. I don’t smoke. No one who smokes comes here. If your men are going to smoke on the job, please ask them not to do it too close to the house. I don’t want anything smelling like smoke. Also, please make sure they take their cigarette butts with them.”
He straightens and makes eye contact with me, clears his throat, and almost grimaces before he says, “I apologize for that. I’ll address it.” I nod. “What about their work was unsatisfactory?”
I put a hand on my hip and tilt my head.
“Is that why you think I’m complaining? Work? That’s the only thing I didn’t have a problem with.” I notice him searching around the room as I talk, and I swear I see appreciation in his eyes as he directs his vision through the wide doorway that leads to the dining room, and his eyes focus on the built-in china cabinets and window seat.
He glances back at me. “Yeah, Lucy said you had an issue with the work. Is it something else?”
I can’t believe this company. Now they have communication issues?
“I didn’t tell her about the issue. I told her I wanted to speak with a supervisor about how my house was left. Follow me… please.” When I get to the bathroom, I open the door and step in with him following close behind. I watch his face as he looks around, and I notice when he frowns.
“Can you show me what the problem is? I was under the impression the job was in the kitchen…”
He’s surveying the room up and down, and there’s no way he misses it. Is he kidding me?
“I’m sorry, do you think thatIurinate and don’t flush? That I put the seat up when I pee? Or that I leave drops of pee not only on the rim of the toilet, but on the floor in front of it? You assume that was me?” My face heats with irritation.
“It wasn’t?” I can’t tell if it’s an earnest question because I see the hint of a smirk on his face. I’m not sure enough of it to give him hell. For that part, anyway.
“Are you serious right now?”
