My Little Farm Girl

Chapter 9: GABRIELLA

I went out to the kitchen and found aunt Marion there with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. She smiled at me, and I felt my shoulders relax a little.

She seemed to be over whatever had been bothering her the night before. “Don't you look like the perfect little assistant? Grab yourself some coffee or juice. We've got to get going soon. I don't want to be late."

I grabbed a cup of bitter coffee and gulped it down, not wanting to set her off again.

I was tense all the way in the car, but thankfully it was only about a five-minute drive, which made me wonder why she'd even bother.

I looked out the window at the early morning traffic as the driver made his way through the streets of Manhattan.

Aunt Marion looked so posh, like one of those women you saw in magazines, and her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place.

If I tried to roll my hair the way she'd done hers, it'd take me a hundred pins and then some to hold it together.

I kept stealing peeks at her out the side of my eye as I sat stiff as a board next to her. She was thumbing through a folder, and I noticed even her nails were perfect.

I folded mine in my lap with their chips and ragged edges, feeling more inadequate by the second. “We're here." She put away her reading material as the car came to a stop.

“Now remember, try not to act like the country bumpkin that you are, these people are my colleagues, and I don't need them thinking that I'd associate with anyone that was less than average." She actually sniffed after she said this to me.

As if I wasn't feeling out of my depth enough as it is as I looked up at the building we were approaching.

It had to be the tallest building in the world. I had to literally crane my neck just to see up to the top, and even then, I could barely make it out. The tallest building back home was three stories high, and that was considered a big deal by the locals.

“Well, come along, don't just stand there gawking like a fool."

I was beginning to think that maybe she had a mental unbalance of some kind. My great aunt Nettie was like that. She could be fine one minute, and the next, the most obscene things would shoot out of her mouth.

Momma and daddy always said just to be kind to the pitiful old soul because she didn't know any better.

With the new thought set firmly in my head, I decided not to look at aunt Marion as some sort of ogre but more like someone who was to be pitied for her condition.

It was sad, really, because momma was the same age, and she was fine. It must not be easy for aunt Marion to be going through this at her young age with her whole life ahead of her.

I didn't have much time to dwell on my new discovery, however, for as soon as we entered the high-rise building, things seemed to be constantly in motion.

Aunt Marion introduced me around the office, and everyone seemed so nice, though I did catch a few of them giving me pitying looks. I wonder what that was about?

They couldn't have realized that my clothes weren't of the highest order; momma was a great seamstress; in fact, she made good money sewing for other people in our small town and even some in the next town over.

And my top, though not new, was very well made and quite beautiful if I do say so myself. My shoes might be a bit scuffed but nothing too horrendous, so I put it down to my imagination.

...

I was going nonstop from the time we got there, but I was having fun. There was so much to do, and all of it exciting.

My first real job, and I was going to be paid and everything. By midday, some of the girls in the office were chatting with me. I had my own little cubicle where I sat to work on the stuff aunt Marion had given me to go through when I wasn't running back and forth from one department to the next.

I got the feeling that Aunt Marion wasn't very well-liked, and some of the comments made me just a tad uncomfortable.

Like when I'd say that I was staying with her and the pitying or sometimes horrified looks would start, but I ignored it.

Momma did say that the young Marion had been a force to be reckoned with; maybe she was just one of those misunderstood types, the strong personality that people were more comfortable with in men but not so much when it came to women.

Whatever the case, she was a hard taskmaster and kept me too busy to dwell on much else except what she'd given me to do.

I felt a keen sense of disappointment as the day wore on, and there was no sign of Callan. I'd thought for sure that since he was her boss that he would at least be here.

But I'd been keeping a secret eye out for him all day, and he wasn't here, it seemed, and I dare not bring him up to one of the others. I wondered at the feeling of loss that was almost overwhelming when just one day ago, I didn't even know he existed.

I hoped no one noticed my ennui as the day wore on; most of all, aunt Marion, I wouldn't want to have to answer any leading questions as I'm sure my stupid face would give me away in a heartbeat.

I ate lunch alone at my desk while the others headed out to a local café. I didn't have any ready cash except for the little bit daddy had given me for emergencies, so the apple I'd snagged from the break room earlier would have to do.

Tomorrow I'll have to remember to bring something from home if aunt Marion wouldn't mind. All she'd asked me to get her was bottled water and a power bar for lunch. I don't think she even noticed that I didn't have any. Oh well, it's not the end of the world, and it's just one day.

My first day on the job was winding down, and though it had been tiring, it had still been the most exciting day of my life, except for the pang in my chest from not seeing him.

Everyone was packing up to go, and aunt Marion was still on the phone in her office, still hard at work. I just wanted to go home and hide out in my room to lick my wounds. I guess he'd really only been nice because of her or because he felt sorry for me.

The thoughts in my head were confusing and left me feeling a bit lost and at sea. There was no one I could turn to for advice, so I guess I'd just have to muddle through on my own somehow.

Back home, momma would wash my hair and sit with me while I cried my heart out over some boy that had overlooked me once again for one of the more popular girls.

She hadn't done that since I was about fourteen, I think, but there was a time there when that was a regular Saturday night occurrence in our home.

Only this time, I don't think momma could wash this one out of my hair that easily. Somehow in the short amount of time, since we'd met, he'd wormed his way much deeper into me than anyone else ever had.