“I’m not going to sit around and let you starve, Shelton. And your father,” she sighed. “He’s getting tired of waiting for things to turn around.”
“Why would he invest in…” I trailed off, then groaned. “So he can watch things from the business side.”
“He just wants to make sure you’re going about everything the right way.”
“I’m not a child. If his help comes with telling me how to run my business, I don’t want it. I have everything under control.” I felt like I’d said it multiple times, but when Mother got something in her head, she didn’t let it go.
“He said this is it. If you’re not going to move home or accept his help, there won’t be any more money. I won’t go behind his back.”
I blinked. I knew the day was coming, but I thought it would feel more liberating. Instead, I was panicked, thinking about my empty calendar and my expenses. I didn’t want her shoveling money into my account anytime she saw fit, but being cut off was more than I’d bargained for. But my father didn’t play, and my mother wouldn’t say he was reaching his limit unless it was true. “You don’t need to go behind his back. I really do have this.”
“Have you had any clients this week, Shelton?” Her voice was flat, no nonsense.
I scrambled for something to say that would convince her, but I had nothing. “It’s only Tuesday.” It sounded weak and pointless, even to me.
“What does that even mean?”
That I haven’t had a client in weeks, I thought, but there was no way I was saying that out loud. If I admitted to my mother that I was on the verge of calling it quits and getting a “real job,” that was like an engraved invitation for her to swoop in and force me to move home. No, I wanted to do this on my own, even if it meant shutting my mom down with a little white lie. “It means that I’ve just closed a contract and I’m working on ads today.” I forced a lighthearted chuckle. “There’s more to business than taking calls and building experiences. I have to research venues; scout travel deals and all sorts of things. Plus, I have to manage my social media presence and make sure I have fresh videos to upload to Instagram. I’m not just selling people their bucket lists and dream vacations, I’m selling them the idea that anyone can afford it. That takes some work.”
There was silence on the other end, and I held my breath, waiting to see if I’d sold it too hard or if she would buy it. When she finally spoke, relief flooded through me. “You have so much business sense like your father. I’m so proud of you, Shelly.”
I smirked at the childhood nickname. “Thanks, Ma.” I tapped the keyboard for effect, then I cleared my throat. “Listen. I have a lot to do today. How about dinner Saturday? My treat.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” she said. “I miss having you here.”
“I know,” I said gently. “But kids grow up and they leave the nest, you know that.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t know. You came along just before your brother graduated high school, so I was too busy running after a toddler to notice how that felt. And your brother came home as much as he could so he could help out. It’s just not the same this time.”
“You could always have another oops baby,” I teased.
“You bite your tongue. I’m nearly seventy. One surprise baby in my forties was amazing enough. I don’t need another miracle.” Despite her words, her tone was warm and dreamy, and I knew without her standing in front of me that her eyes were misty with unshed tears of joy.
The weight of her love nearly crushed me, the impending failure of my business crushing my spirit, and her faith in me rubbing salt in the wound. I almost told her it was all a lie; that I was flailing and nothing I did seemed to make things better. But I didn’t want to disappoint her.
It would break her heart.
“I shouldn’t keep you any longer,” she said, sniffling delicately. “You’re a busy man. Call me Friday and we’ll talk about Saturday, all right?”
“Of course,” I said. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” she said, then the line went dead in my ear and I sighed.
I know you do, I thought, chest tight, already regretting lying to her. Everything was not fine, but Shelton Greene didn’t run crying to his mother when things got tough. I was going to figure things out, and I was going to find a way to succeed.
And if that didn’t work, I could always work for my father. I clenched my teeth and shook my head. There was no way I was doing that. I’d work as a barista before I stepped foot into that stuffy office in a scratchy suit and tight leather shoes. Corporate America wasn’t for me, no matter how desperate I got.
I was going to figure out a way to pull myself out of the trenches and succeed on my own. By the time I settled in to get to work, I was pumped up and ready to go. I wasn’t a failure. It was growing pains. Normal business growing pains.
My good mood faltered a few hours later when I finished going over my social media analytics and realized that there was more to do than I’d led my mother to believe. So much more. The only thing that was keeping me afloat at the moment were the ads. I had almost a dozen requests for new ads from the companies I partnered with, which earned me exclusive discounts for my clients. Then there was the weekly video upload on my YouTube and Instagram accounts, and engaging with followers, rotating the posts I had sponsored- I stopped, heart pounding under the weight of it all and only about halfway through the list. Sighing, I pushed away from the desk and stretched out, glaring at the computer screen, but my frustration had no effect on the truth staring back at me. My business wasn’t about to fail, it was already a failure. And it looked like the only one who didn’t know it was me.
I checked my accounts again, then pulled up the schedule of auto payments and tallied everything up. I had exactly enough to last me three months. That wasn’t counting what my mother transferred in every month, but even then, I was in trouble. If I didn’t spend anything extra, I had to have a good paying job in the next four months if I wanted to keep my place. If that didn’t pan out, I was looking at six months before I would have to admit defeat and move back home. And that was if I waited until I was broke.
Frustrated, I stood up and left the office, my bare feet silent on the thick carpet in the hallway. I strode into the living room, grabbed the remote then tossed it down again without hitting any buttons. The silence closed in on me, and I paced, still flustered.
My phone vibrated in my back pocket and I pulled it out, eagerly reading the preview on the lock screen, but it wasn’t from a client. It was from Alex Hughes.
Another sigh.
I hadn’t gotten back to him yet despite my promise to think about it for a week and touch base. It had been almost a month. I used my thumb to scroll through the message, prepared for a more aggressive pitch now that I’d been dodging his emails, but Alex remained polite, even pleasant. The message was simple-
If you’re still interested, your application has been approved. Give me a call. There’s an event tonight.
Warmest Regards, Alex Hughes.
I chuckled a little when I read “application.” The truth was, I’d filled it out on a whim, then immediately changed my mind. While the proposition was a tempting one, being a consort wasn’t something I’d ever considered. Like you knew what that was before Alex contacted you, I chided myself, thinking back to that day, and a random private message on Instagram that had led to the most interesting encounter.