Page 27 of Mistlefoe
“Ice skating is a big activity in the event,” Conor says with his business voice. “And there’s only one ice rink in Mapleton.”
Richard asks, “Is it booked already?”
“No, I know for a fact that it’s not booked because it’s my grandfather’s.”
When the issue doesn’t seem to be computing for Richard, I explain, “It could be seen as a conflict of interest.”
Richard hums while in thought. “But it’s also a single-source option. Let me talk with Martin and see what he thinks. If he doesn’t go for it, you’ll have to eliminate the ice skating activity from the event.”
“Roger that.”
“In the meantime, you have the green light. Full press court. The whole nine yards. If you need to work remotely to organize everything and keep the secrets, do it. And use your corporate credit cards if vendors aren’t setup already.” He smacks the table once and stands up, leaving without further ado.
The stress leaves my body and I deflate.
Conor elbows me. “See? We nailed it.”
“Well, not quite. We haven’t solved the issue of the venue yet.”
“But at least we can start spending.” He closes his laptop and grabs his coffee mug with the logo of his former pro hockey team.
I push off the table. “But where are we going to put all the stuff if we have to keep it hush hush from literally the entire building?”
“I have a big shed,” Conor says as he pushes the door open with his shoulder. “I’ll text you the address and you can start dropping stuff over whenever you want.”
With that plan, we split off to start collecting all the junk we’ll need.
*
Something about filling the back of my truck with assorted Christmas stuff has finally let it sink in. This is happening. The ten thousand dollar bonus is sure-fire now. Even if I don’t get the promotion, it means I don’t have to cancel the reservation for Grammie’s flight over for Christmas. All I have to do is break the news now.
I honk from the parking lot of the wretched high school I attended, which is still Dad’s workplace. This is as far as I get every time I have to drop him off and pick him up after work, and Dad knows the routine. Not even a minute later, he’s walking out at a hurried pace and gets in the passenger’s seat.
“How was work today, mija?” Dad asks as he puts on his seatbelt.
I dance a little in my seat. “I have great news.”
“¿Sí? ¿Qué pasó?”
“Nope, you have to wait until we’re home and call Grammie too.”
Dad huffs. “Unfair. You shouldn’t have hinted at it if you weren’t going to share.”
“It’s because I’m so excited! But first, let’s get out of this horrible place so I can be properly happy.”
Fortunately, the drive home from here is pretty short. Unfortunately, Dad spends the entire time trying to get what the big news is out of me.
“Did you get a big project?”
I crank up the volume of the music even higher.
He dials it back down. “Is it a boy?”
I look away because hell no.
“Are they finally making you CEO of the whole place?”
I snort because I wish.
