Invenient me

Sunlight filters in through the pale curtains and onto the wooden floor. Dust dances across the room and lands in unseen spots. The mirror glints, welcoming light from a new day.

I pull back the heavy duvet and brush some hair off one of my pillows. Sit down on the edge of the bed. Slip on some short heels.

Tugging the stubborn strap up, I stand and move around the bed to the mirror. Adjusting a lock of hair here and there, I take a moment to examine my reflection in the mirror. Straightish brown hair with a few curls. Streaks of near gold spilt through it like a mistaken splash of paint.

I turn away from the mirror and pick up a suitcase and tote bag from beside the bed. Hoisting them up, I open the door and stroll out into the hall.

I can hear Brady giggling and wonder who must have him laughing this morning. It’s such an unusual sound for a kid that hardly speaks.

Brady is only sixteen, but one would think he’s fourteen-he’s quiet in social settings and hardly speaks to adults. I wonder if it’s Claire that has him laughing, but-

When I step into the kitchen, Claire is standing at the bench, also laughing, holding her hand up to her mouth in an attempt to not spit put a piece of bread or something. On the bench is a rolling pin, flour, some dough and various ingredients spread out all around her.

She glances at me as I round the bench, picking up an apple as I pass her.

“M-morning De-Debra,” she manages. “Marcus has me in f-fits!” She glances at the table in the corner and starts a fresh wave of giggling, throwing back her head and snorting.

“Morning,” I reply, laughing at her laughing. I turn and walk toward the table. “Someone must have told a funny joke.”

Marcus looks up at me. “I sure did.”

For a guy in his early thirties, Marcus doesn’t seem like the type to be seated at a table with a teenager, eating waffles and laughing about some joke. In fact, Marcus belongs on the sportsfield, scoring points in one of the three sports he has an aptitude for.

“All due credit to him,” Brady says. The kids cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright. I take it in with a smile.

After glancing at him, Marcus turns to me. “What time you got work?”

I brush back my sleeve and look down at my watchface. “Now,” I sigh. I rest my arm on his shoulder. “Could you pass me a green apple? The bowl on the counter only has red ones.”

“Sure.” he leans across, barely disrupting my arm and picks a bright green apple from the large bowl. He hands it to me. “There ya go Chief.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. “I’m not Chief Executive Officer yet,” I say as I turn away. As I pass the counter, I catch Claire’s smile. I roll my eyes and head for the door.

Pausing after I close the door, I take a deep breath, inhaling through my nose. I don’t let it out, wanting to savour all the sweet smells of the early morning-the fruit trees, the pine, the herb garden.

The early morning scents are always the sweetest.

My feet crunch on the odd stray piece of gravel down the path through the front lawn as I head toward my car. About the only thing ‘not flash’ about this place is my car. Just a simple hatchback-I could easily afford a completely new car-but I love it, because it’s perfect for transporting around curtains and boards and other stuff relevant to my job. And I think it gives people the impression that I am in there homes purely to help with their interior design, not to show off my prestige. I think it helps them relate to me, and get across their inner ideas and visions more easily. In other words, it helps me with my work.

The trouble is, sometimes it doesn’t want to start.

I turn the key in the ignition, silently hoping. But it turns over and starts up straightaway.

Wondering what guardian angel has been assigned to me today, I back out of my space, yank the wheel around a couple of times, and set off down the drive for work.

The elevator this morning, for once, isn’t overcrowded. I’m able to get my takeaway coffee to my cubicle without even worrying about spilling it. As I set it carefully on my desk and sit down, a bright yellow Post-It note attracts my attention, stuck to my lamp shade.

“Hey co-worker!”

I glance up. A young woman with black hair hangs over me, her charming, overly-white smile glinting in the light.

“Hey, Jasmin,” I say, even sounding a bit enthusiastic to see her there, which is not a usual thing. Gee, what is up with this morning?

“Morning! How are you today?”

“Great, thanks,” I say, not really paying attention to her as I pull the Post-It off my lamp.

By this time, Jasmin has already boosted herself up on my desk and is blabbering away about her boyfriend.

“...he took me out to this restaurant and it was real fancy and stuff-the kind with shiny knives and forks and stuff and cushioned seats-my butt felt so good on those things,” she taps her lower back and laughs, “And he started telling me how important I’ve been to him and all that stuff-when I suddenly thought, ‘My god. What am I doing here? Me, Jasmin Von Baker?’ And even I couldn’t answer my-”

“Oh my gosh,” I say quietly, reading the note.

Jasmin seems to have forgotten her small dilemma at the restaurant. “What?” she asks, leaning over me.

I stand up quickly. “I have to go to Jake’s office,” I say. I turn and stroll quickly away from my desk, leaving Jasmin behind.

“What? Oh, OK!” she calls after me. No doubt she’s turned to another coworker and is already halfway through her spiel about her boyfriend again.

Jake, the CEO of the interior design company I work for, has his office situated on the top floor of the building. I used to find it intimidating, because I almost felt like he could watch us work all day long from his high perch, like a crow stalking weary travellers. Of course, I’d only met him twice before. He seemed nice enough.

I manage to find my way to his office, first moving through the bush cubicles of working designers, down clean halls and into an elevator. I push the number 44 for the top floor, and within a minute it’s let me out on a carpeted floor. I walk down a short hall, and a blonde woman behind a large desk greets me. I tell her I’m looking for Mr Ryan and she points me through the other end of the hall. I thank her and follow the sharply turning rug to a an equally sharp staircase, which leads to a shiny, metallic door.

I pause, and take my second deep breath of the morning. I check my watch, but feel reasonably calm for the sort of situation I’m about to be put in.

I knock on the door, and a calm voice says, “Come in.”

Jake Ryan’s office is a place I haven’t actually been in before-but I know that when I step in, I already like it. It has a simple, black-and-grey colour scheme, a move to entice a mood and atmosphere of relaxation as well as work. He’s on the phone, so I patiently, and subtly, examine the room. The floor looks like black glass, the desk and couch set on a grey fluffy rug. The desk is a dark polished wood, tidily set with a grey lamp and various items related to an office and the type of work he must do-not that I really know what a CEO does all day. The walls are entirely glass on three sides, giving a spectacular view of the city. Walking slowly toward the desk, I wonder who selected this setup-whether it was Jake Ryan himself, or whether he chose another designer to do it for him.

“Yes. I’d like to do it myself. No no-don’t let Patricia do it herself. I can be over there later tonight to go over some plans.”

Something tells me he did it himself.

“Yes. Thank you, Jeanine. I’ll see you all tonight.”

He hangs up. I focus on him.

“Hi. Debra, right?”

I nod. “Hi. And yes.”

Jake Ryan leans back against his desk, resting his thighs against it. “Debra, I’ve asked you to my office today to discuss your career ambitions with you. I’ve been looking over your work and ah…” he glances down at his desk. He looks back up at me, his eyes appearing to narrow. “It’s fantastic.”

For a moment I’m speechless. “Sorry Mr Ryan, but I’m slightly confused.”

He chuckles. “I understand. You see, Debra,” he says, moving around his desk and leaning over it. This prompts me to walk closer. “I’ve gone over your most recent completed projects. I was so intrigued I even went back and looked at your earlier work with this company. It was excellent even back then-as a newbie, you quickly established yourself as competent and a force to be reckoned with in the interior design industry. Still confused?” he asks, seeing my look.

I nod. “Just a little.”

“Just a little. Right, let me begin again.” he sits down. “I’m looking for a fresh new look for this place. Someone to put on the forefront of this company. A symbol. A face. Something people can connect with and even relate to. I started looking at potential people within the company to do this, and out of all of them, you stood out, Debra.”

I pause. After a few moments, I part my lips. “Mr Ryan-”

“Debra, do me a favour and call me Jake. I try to get everyone to. All these formalities make me feel a little claustrophobic sometimes.” He gestures around his head in a circular motion with his hands.

“Alright. I’m sorry, Jake, but I’m confused as to why my work stood out.”

“Because it’s different to everything else. I got a rookie to take a look at one project you did-knowing you were the designer-and then pick out a different piece of your work, from an entirely different project, from nine other pieces of work done by different designers. They picked out your work. Everytime. They told me “because there’s something different about her work.”. I was astonished. Someone else saw the spark in your work and it was then I knew you were the right person.”

“Right person for what, exactly?”

He leans forward. “The right person to design a new logo for the company.”

I sit stock still. I can hardly believe my ears. “Wow…” he grins. “I mean,” I clear my throat, “A new logo?”

“Or symbol,” Ryan adds. “I’m after something new, something fresh.”

“And what’s in it for me?” I ask hesitantly.

“You’ll have a new contract with this company. You’ll be promoted and have your own office. No more cramped cubicle work.”

“But I like my cubicle.”

“It’s hardly a cubicle though.” Jake says as he leans back in his chair again. To be honest, I’ve been pushing for more room for my designers for years. The thing is, we just don’t have the space right now. Expansion is my ultimate goal. However, first I’d like to upgrade certain employee’s positions, advance them throughout the company. Free up some elbow and leg room, you could say. But I have another reason. When this company finally expands,I want all the right people in all the right places so we’ll have a strong backbone that will make sure we don’t fall at our most vulnerable point.”

“And...you want me to be one of those people?”

He leans forward again. “Debra, you’re the first person.”

“And this...promotion? What does that entail?”

“Let’s backtrack here. If my superiors like what you’ve got, then your design becomes the updated look of the company. Then you get your own office, as per any CEO.”

My mouth falls open. I remind myself where I am as Jake laughs.

“CEO? You mean...Chief Executive Officer?”

“Well, co-CEO technically,” he says. “With me. You’ll have an office on this floor, too, and have your own secretary, if I can convince those higher up you need one. Now, I know you have your own studio-”

“Study,” I correct him. “At home. I call it the study but yes, it serves me as a studio. I do all my work in there.”

“Brilliant. Well, I could also give you your own studio. I think a CEO deserves that, do you not?”

At first I don’t reply. Jake watches my face as I process this. Finally, he speaks.

“Come on Debra. You’ve worked hard with us for five years. You deserve this.” He stands up, holding out his hand. Automatically, I also rise to my feet.

“It would be a shame not to have you onboard. So what do you say?” he asks, grinning.

I hesitate, considering. Yes, it would a shame to throw away this opportunity in favour of my boring cubicle downstairs.

I slip my hand into his. “Deal.”

I slam the car door shut and walk slowly up the path again. I turn the door handle and step inside the house.

Immediately, I can hear a distant voice, shouting. I look up quickly but spot the source, Brady, raucously laughing with Jonah, our St Bernard. I smile, breathe out a sigh of relief, and put my keys and folders on a side table in the hall.

Claire’s behind the counter again, and Marcus in sitting on the couch, watching Brady and Jonah sprint after each other around the yard.

“Hey. How was work?” he asks, looking up.

“You’re home early,” Claire says.

“Hi. Yeah, Jake sent me home early,” I say, walking to the fridge. I pull it open and reach in for a sparkling water.

“Jake?” Claire asks, looking over her shoulder at me and frowning in confusion.

“The boss and I are on first name terms now,” I say, wiggling my butt and poking my tongue at her. We laugh together.

“Well? Is Debra gonna explain why she was sent home early by Jake or is she going to leave us all in suspense?” Marcus asks from the couch.

I take a glass from Claire and walk around the counter to the couch, sitting adjacent to Marcus.

“Well, Debra may be getting a new promotion.”

“What?” Claire screams. Brady freezes and looks up. I wave at him. He waves back. I turn back to Claire and Marcus.

“Jake called me into his office and said they need someone to redesign the company’s look. Logo et cetera. He’d been going over my previous work, and...chose me.”

Claire hurries to the cooler and digs around in it, making glasses clink loudly together. She pulls out a bottle of wine.

“We need to celebrate!” She announces.

“Hang on, go steady,” I say. “It’s only four o’clock.”

“And?”

“And we’re not alcoholics like you, Claire,” Marcus calls over his shoulder at her.

“Oh my god!” she suddenly exclaims excitedly. “I gotta call my sister-tell her I’ll be vacationing in Bali this summer!”

Marcus and I laugh as Claire almost sprints from the room, down the second hall leading to the bedrooms.

He turns back to me, his eyes bright, his face looking pleased.

“Wow. That’s amazing, Debra. I’m really proud of you.”

“Thank you, Marcus,” I say, pushing the straps of my heels down then kicking them off. They fall on the floor with a heavy thump.

“I get the contracts tomorrow,” I add. I lower my voice. “He said I might be co-CEO, Marcus.”

“Holy….wow. That means…”

“It means I could be the CEO of my own company in a few years!”

“That’s what you’ve always wanted! You’ve always told me-”

“Hey! Uncle Marcus! You wanna come out here and play catch with me and Jonah?” Brady calls from the lawn, holding a ball with a softball glove on his hand.

“Sure thing, dude,” he calls back. He turns to me, smiling. “I really am very proud of you, Debra.” he reaches out and grasps my knee tightly for a second. Then he stands and walk out onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

I watch as he asks Brady, “You gonna give me the ball?”

Brady grins mischievously. “Nah.”

“OK,” Marcus says, holding up his hands. “We can do this the mature adult way, or the childish child way.”

Brady considers this.

“OK. Mature adult way it is,” Marcus says, dropping his hands back to his sides. Suddenly he sprints after Brady, who turns and breaks into a quick run, with Jonah jogging at their sides.

“Aww,” Claire says. I turn and see she’s re-appeared beside the counter. “That boy looks so good, Debra. You should never have let him go.”

At first I think she’s commenting on Brady, but her second sentence makes me sigh and stand up. “Yes, he’s great, alright.”

“Whaat?” Claire asks when she sees my eyes narrow at her, our custom routine. She walks back around the counter. “He’s a step up from fiiine. He’s hot.”

“Way to be subtle, Claire,” I tell her, walking to the counter and leaning against it.

She stops opposite me. “I’m only admiring what a nice man he is, Debra.” she says, pretending to admonish me.

“If you admire him so much, why don’t you marry him?” I ask.

She snorts, holding up her hands briefly, looking down at a cookbook. “All I’m saying is, maybe this..living..thing...isn’t really the best thing for you guys.” she says, waving a large spoon around.

I push the spoon back down onto the counter before she manages to hit me with it and roll my eyes. “Our arrangement is fine, Claire. And I think it’s best for...everyone.”

She turns to face me, squaring her hips. “He’s your ex-husband, Claire. And it’s been a couple of years. Isn’t it time things went back to normal, before he thinks you’re in it for something else?”

I look directly at her, and employ an assertive voice. “He volunteered to help, Claire. Because he’s like that. And he knows why we both agreed to it. Besides, I think it’s best for Brady right now, until he leaves for college, that is.”

She snorts. “College. And Brady.” she laughs very briefly, throwing back her head. Then she turns a page in the cookbook and resumes her serious face. “I don’t think he’ll like that.”

“Hey. Marcus has been looking into several schools with him. He’ll be fine. He has us.”

She looks up at me again. “You mean he has us three, or you and Marcus?”

I sigh, and turn away from the counter, heading toward the door and the deck. “We’ve had this conversation how many times, Claire?” But I smile in spite of myself.

“Hey, I get bored talking about carrots and sauce!” she says. I throw a wide smile at her over my shoulder, then pull the door back and step outside.

“Carrots and sauce...I get bored...he is your ex-husband, Debra,” I say, mocking Claire’s words. I make a show of it and hear Claire’s laughter through the windows.

I lean forward, pulling the rake and a pile of leaves closer to me.

“Jonah!” Brady exclaims as the three of them race around the corner, heading straight for me. The guys make an effort to slow down, but Brady keeps running, encouraging Jonah to keep going, too. The dog smacks against my leg, and I cry out, but laugh along with Brady.

I glance up at Marcus, then crouch down to stroke Jonah’s ears and underneath his chin.

When I stand up, Marcus hands the rake back to me. Jonah is now scrounging around in one of the gardens. “Get him out of there, bud,” Marcus tells Brady. Brady turns to retrieve the dog.

“I swear he knocks into me purposely,” I say, taking the rake from him. Our hands briefly touch, and I can feel his body heat radiating off him in waves. I reach up and pull a leaf out of his hair, and turn to glance at Claire, knowing she’ll be watching our every move and wanting to see her pretend to cringe at us. But Claire’s not there. The kitchen is deserted.

“Yeah,” Marcus says, poking my ribs. I push his hand away. “That’s what you’re good for. Colliding with.”

“That’s nice,” I say, and something catches my eyes over his shoulder. Claire, rounding the corner, with someone trailing along behind her. She looks serious, even a bit confused. My grin fades slightly from my face as they approach us.

Marcus and I exchange a glance.

She moves quickly, the stranger-a guy-moving slower, his head down, like he’s shy or something.

When she’s near enough, Claire glances up and looks straight at me. “Debra, someone’s here for you.”

I turn my gaze away from Marcus’s face, to Claire’s, and finally, the stranger’s, who is finally looking up at us.

It’s then I realize he’s not a stranger at all.

The rake falls from my hand and to the ground with a distant, muffled thud, as I take in the stranger’s familiar features and face.