Second First Impressions(3)
? My dad is a reverend?
? Adam went to my dad for counseling the next morning?
? Counseling re: the sin he committed with me?
? Yeah.
My counseling was outsourced to Mom and she told me that Dad was “deeply disappointed” by my “choices.” Apparently, he was so disappointed that we haven’t had a proper talk since, and I’ve never made a bad choice again.
“Looking to jump back into the dating scene.” Melanie writes that down. “I’ve written all my friends’ dating profiles, and for my older sister Genevieve. My bridesmaid’s dress is this pistachio color. That’s the thanks I get.”
An engaged sister? Melanie has some heavy-duty credentials. But this feels like the start of another teen movie and I have no intention of starring in it. “Please don’t actually post anything without my permission.”
“I won’t,” she replies, so puzzled by my suspicion that I’m ashamed. “We’ll create a schedule of homework activities starting out very easy, until you’re down at the Thunderdome getting your neck kissed by some sexy guy. We won’t just pick the first one who comes along. By the time I leave here, you’ll have someone.”
I gape at her. “That is literally impossible.”
“Not when you follow the Melanie Sasaki Method.” She writes that down and underlines it many times. “The Sasaki Method. How catchy. That sounds just like a self-help book. That sounds like a Netflix series.” She’s sold the rights within ten seconds of having the idea.
She’s not the only one jumping way ahead; I’m still caught up on the sexy-guy-neck-kissing concept. By the time she’s worked her magic and left, I’ll be watching the Christmas special of my favorite TV show, Heaven Sent, on my couch with someone who wants to kiss me. Is it actually impossible?
“So you in? The Sasaki Method?” Melanie grins widely. “It’ll be a lot of fun.”
I’m a sleep-on-it person. “Can I think about it?”
“I want a reply by Friday, close of business.” Today is Monday.
She turns to her computer and begins typing. Just as I think a miracle has occurred— she’s doing some work— my computer chimes with a meeting request for Friday five P.M. Subject? The Sasaki Method, of course. I click accept, and just like that, the conversation is not over, just rescheduled.
CHAPTER TWO
After our yogurts, Melanie begins setting up the new resident profile in the system, but now that she’s working, I kind of wish we were still chatting. It’s a beautiful afternoon. Through the open office door, I can see the neat path leading to the residents’ accommodations. There’s perfect hedges, emerald grass, and a tiny sliver of blue sky. “I like Sylvia’s view from this chair.”
Melanie replies, still typing, “Are you angling to get her job?”
I nod. “If nothing disastrous happens, she says she can retire with confidence.” I think she means, she’ll retire before things get serious.
Prescott Development Corporation (PDC) acquired Providence eighteen months ago. They have a reputation for giving their acquisitions a glamorous, repurposing makeover. Would Providence become a wellness center? A boutique hotel? A set for a reality TV show? Time passed and nothing happened. There was no visit, no call, no bulldozers, but eventually a decree was issued on PDC letterhead: All tenancy agreements have been altered to have the same end date of December 31 next year.
“That’s fine,” Mrs. Whittaker (she of the legendary three boyfriends) told me when I dropped off the paperwork explaining the tenancy amendment. “I’ll be dead by then, honey. Got a pen?” The attitude of residents has either been cheerful don’t-careness or gossipy conspiracy theories. The calls from their families were stressed-out questions we still can’t answer. By next Christmas we could be packing up this office.
We keep trying to impress PDC with the perfect investment they’ve made, by sending through regular financial reports and cute newspaper clippings about our contributions to the community. But our corporate daddy’s too busy to notice our A+ report cards and flawless ballet recitals. We are the forgotten achievers. And I’m really okay with that.
Melanie’s head turns. “Oh, I hear a scooter. Tag, you’re it.”
“Part of your duties is assisting the residents. Probably your top duty.”
“They’re all so old with see-through skin. I can’t handle it.” Melanie gets up and goes into the bathroom, phone in hand. I walk outside to create a drive-through service.
A sharp voice shouts, “You’d think for the price we pay, they’d do something about the turtles.” Steaming down the hill toward me are the Parloni sisters. The older sister taking the lead is Renata. She’s just turned ninety-one. I put a birthday card in her mailbox and it was returned to me, torn into pieces. It’s okay— I knew she’d do that.
“Be more careful, they’re endangered” is what Agatha (Aggie) replies. She is younger at eighty-nine years old and she is correct: They’re endangered tortoises and they’re everywhere. Providence has the highest concentration of golden bonnet tortoises of anywhere on the planet. They swerve their scooters around the slow-motion lumps dotting the path and my heart is in my throat.