“Have you met Marie?”
“Of course I have. I love Marie!”
Carol just stares at me. Of all the Jacoby daughters, she looks the most like her mother, so it's a bit jarring to be arguing about how tolerable Marie is when I'm staring into the face of a younger version of her.
“You love Marie enough to turn her into a colleague? Think about that for a minute.”
“How did we get from Agnes and Corrine to Marie?”
“All crazy women with AARP cards and no boundaries.”
“My card is titanium,” says a gravelly old voice from the door.
“Shut up, Corrine. Mine is a stone tablet carved by Moses himself.”
“Are we really having this conversation, Agnes? Because you're damn straight, you're older than me. We all know it. You have the liver spots to prove it.”
“Too bad I can't turn my liver spots into a blanket and cover my face with it so I don't have to look at you, Corrine.”
A young woman in her early twenties, with chestnut hair pulled back in a long ponytail, and wide brown eyes, pops her head between the two old ladies.
“Is this the right place, Grandma?” Her voice is lower than I'd expect, and there is something compact and commanding about her.
“It's fine, Cassie. This is it. My new career, where all I have to do is be old and pretend to be stupid.”
“Well, that'll be a change from you being stupid and pretending to be old, Agnes.”
“That makes no sense, Corrine.”
“Neither does that outfit,” the old woman sniffs, giving Agnes's red and white caftan some major side eye.
Cassie taps Corrine on the shoulder. “My brother and I bought that for her for Christmas.”
Corrine gives her a thousand-watt smile. “That's so sweet, honey.” The charm is strong in that one, because Cassie just shakes her head and laughs.
“I'm Amanda McCormick,” I say, striding across the reception area, hand outstretched. “And you are?”
“I’m Cassie. I'm just the driver for these two,” she replies, looking behind her. “Mind if I wait in the lobby downstairs? Saw a good coffee place there.”
“Not as good as Grind It Fresh!” I stress, never missing a chance to plug my friend's chain.
“How far is it?”
“Two blocks to the left, out the main door.” Shannon and Declan have opened two more shops in downtown Boston, in addition to the flagship store at their headquarters. It's made drinking good coffee so much easier, plus Anterdec employees get a twenty percent discount.
Shannon insisted.
“Get me a half-caf skinny macchiato with extra whipped cream,” Corrine calls out as Cassie starts to leave.
“But skinny means it's made with skim milk.”
“I know.”
“Skim milk and whipped cream? Don't the two negate each other?”
“Don't apply logic to her, Cassie. Waste of time,” Agnes shoots back, earning a glare from Corrine.
“I like what I like and I don't care if it doesn't make sense.” Her eyes flit over Agnes. “Like you and that outfit.”
And with that, Cassie departs quickly, making me wish I were her, on the way to Grind It Fresh! Anywhere but here with these two old bats.
They shuffle into my office. Agnes leans on her walker and slams her palm on an empty space on the top of my desk. “I want two hundred thousand a year, a parking space by the elevator, and a pool boy of my own, and I won't take anything less.”
Corrine flutters her eyelashes, long, fake things that look like a cloud of starlings hovering in front of her corneas. “Agnes, Agnes, Agnes. You suck at business negotiation.”
“I'm stating my terms up front. It's like sex: If you aren't clear about your expectations, you end up getting pissed on.”
“Sex has nothing to do with getting pissed on!”
Agnes goes quiet in the creepiest way ever.
I clear my throat, Andrew's constant offer for me to leave the company and be a stay-at-home mom suddenly sounding way more appealing. I'm already close to saying yes. It's not that I don't love my job–I do–but I don't need it. Someone else can take my role and the mystery shopping division will function just fine.
It's more that I won't know what to do with myself if I'm not organizing and fixing problems.
And while twins certainly need lots of attention, caring for babies is so different.
Fear spikes through me, sudden and fierce.
“Amanda?” Corrine asks kindly. “Is something wrong?”
My hand goes to my belly and I give her a shaky smile. “I'm fine.”
“You're cooking two at a time. That's superhero level. I remember being pregnant with my daughter like it was yesterday.”
“You gave birth before ultrasounds, Agnes.”
“I gave birth before television was invented, Corrine.”
“When was that?” I ask.
“1960.”
“We had television in 1950, Agnes,” Corrine says.
“We weren't rich like you, I guess,” she says with a sniff.
“It's not my fault my dad was the town doctor and had a thing for electronics.”
“He sure did pass on that love of electronics to you, didn't he? Too bad you like the perverted kind.”
“Agnes!”
“HEY!”
We turn toward the voice. It's Carol, standing in the doorway. I missed her knock, or she didn't bother. Either way, I'm relieved to see her.
“If you two old biddies can knock it off for three seconds, let's get this all figured out.” Carol strides across the room and sets two manila folders on the desk in front of me. “Contracts for these two. I have no idea why you're hiring them.”
“Because we're old and you need people who are collagen-challenged.”
Agnes looks at Corrine like she just sprouted horns. “Who’re what?”
“Collagen-challenged. It's a fancy new term for being old.”
“We need new terms for it? It sucks being old. Why sugarcoat it?”
“Because it's not our fault time ticks away. Old feels like an insult.”
“Only if you're offended by the truth.”
“Agnes,” Corrine says with a playful slap on her friend's arm.
“What? You're old. I'm old. I'm ninety, for goodness sake! If I can't call myself old, who can?”
Corrine looks at her. “What?”
“What?”
“What did you say?”
“I said, if I can't call myself old, who can?”
“What?”
“Aw, hell, Corrine. Quit pretending you can't hear me. I'm onto you.” Agnes snatches one of the manila folders from my desk.
Before Carol can leave, I say, “Stay. You're better at explaining what they need to do than I am.”
“You just want reinforcements,” she hisses.
“Yep.”
Agnes chuckles. “I'll go down to a hundred fifty grand a year, but I won't budge on the pool boy.” She flips open the folder and begins reading, her mouth so set in a frown, she has grooves in her chin like Thanos.