04
After work, I stopped by a bakery and picked up a box of beautiful pastries. On a whim, I added a box of freshly cut durian–a rare treat.
Maynard’s Deli was on my way home, and as I passed by, the Maynard kids, Lily and Noah, ran up to me.
“Miss Jules, what did you get? That looks so good!” Lily trailed behind me, her eyes glued to the box.
I could see right through her. “Just some cake and durian,” I said bluntly. “Why? Got something to say? If not, I’m heading home.”
Hearing the word “durian,” Noah’s eyes lit up. He reached for the bag.
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“Miss Jules, you knew I was craving durian today! Open it up and let me have some!”
I yanked the bag out of reach and shot him a disdainful look. “If you want it so badly, go buy some. Don’t have money? Ask your dad.”
Noah frowned, clearly annoyed. “My dad doesn’t have your kind of money. He’d never buy something this expensiv
Lily chimed in, “Yeah, yeah! If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t even know what fancy food tasted like.”
How had I missed this level of entitlement before? These two brats were clearly cut from the same cloth as their grandmother.
Out of pity, I used to share with them every time they played the sweet sibling act, calling me “Miss Jules” like I was their best friend.
But today? Not a chance.
When I didn’t hand over the goods right away, Noah tried to grab my sleeve.
“Give it to me now! I’m telling you to!”
“Back off,” I snapped, shaking him off. “I’m not your mom. Why should I give you anything?”
Noah’s face darkened. “I know you love the BBQ from our shop. Keep this up, and I’ll make sure Dad stops selling to you!”
Lily dropped her sweet–girl act and planted her hands on her hips. “You always shared with us before. Why not today?”
Excuse me?
Somehow, they’d managed to take shamelessness to a whole new level.
Before I could respond, Martha waddled over, looking every bit as bold as when she stormed into my office. There wasn’t a hint of shame on her face–just the smug air of someone who thought they had the upper hand.
“Let’s just put the plastic bag thing behind us, shall we? I won’t hold it against you. No need to sour things between us.”
Her tone shifted to one of mock generosity, but it was dripping with condescension.
“Kids will be kids. Just let them have a little taste. You’re doing well for yourself, so what’s the harm?”
“And you know,” she added, her voice laced with fake sweetness, “my grandson only asks because he likes you. Don’t let him down.”
Her audacity nearly made me laugh.
I stared her down, my voice ice–cold. “What do you want? A verbal slap? Fine, I’ll deliver.”
“Lack of education can be fixed. Bad looks? There’s always surgery. But a rotten heart? That’s incurable. You extorted $50 from me for a plastic bag and have the gall to stand here pretending to play nice? Do you even realize how much face you’re losing?”
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My sarcasm cut sharper than a knife, leaving no room for politeness.
“Is that a tumor on your neck, or did your mom mix up which part of you to toss out at birth and keep the placenta instead?”
“If you’re bored, go lick a toilet bowl. Stop buzzing around here like a fly.”
Martha Maynard’s face turned ashen, humiliated in front of her grandkids. She couldn’t stomach the insult, yet all she could do was sputter with rage.
“You little tramp! You’ve got no upbringing, no decency! Didn’t your parents teach you manners?”
Her anger erupted like a volcano, words flying out uncontrollably. But she didn’t dare lay a finger on me. Instead, she yanked Noah by the ear and dragged him home.
“You’re such a disgrace! Do I not feed you? Do I not clothe you? Why are you out here begging people for food?”
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Noah didn’t back down. “I didn’t take her food! I just wanted it! What’s it to you, you old hag?”
“You’re not even my mom! Why do you get to boss me around?”
“Oh, just wait till I deal with you, you little brat!”
The sound of a child’s wailing soon echoed down the street, blending with her shrieks.
