Sign of the Times
I’m not the type to have a Life is Good bumper sticker with a cheesy grin plastered on the back of my car, but I have to admit, life is pretty good. Even in the face of freezing temperatures, mild dehydration, and endless traffic on a Saturday afternoon, I felt optimistic.
I was bubbling with excitement after another successful client meeting. It’d been four and a half years, and the feeling of accomplishment from a business collaboration still rushes through me. Today was supposed to be an initial meeting, but unexpectedly, it transformed into a contract-signing bonanza. Instead of staging one house, we’d be staging a whopping seven that Better Homes Real Estate was putting on the market.
It’s hard to believe that I, Allison Montgomery, went from being a bored and frustrated kindergarten teacher to a successful home staging business owner. It’s even harder to believe that my mother-in-law, Margaret, the very person who’d been a major source of frustration for me and my marriage since the day we met, is the same person who provided the financial backing and the encouragement and the emotional support that allowed me to launch and grow my business. I couldn’t wait to get home to tell her about this latest success. Bizarre would be an understatement.
Clearly, aside from Margaret, and me for toughening up and gaining clarity and confidence, my mother, Rosemary, deserves a share of the credit. She’s been my guru when it comes to being a better person. She’s been my guru to learning to ‘read the signs’ too. When George, my father-in-law, died five years ago, and all hell broke loose with Margaret, it was kindness and patience, and an openness to change that made the difference. Don’t get me wrong. Life isn’t perfect. Mean people still suck. Running a business is no cakewalk. And as for Margaret? Well, she can still be at times...well, Margaret. But things have gotten better. Next level, actually.
Traffic started moving again and the next song on my playlist, Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off, started playing. I sang my Grammy worthy duet with her as loud as humanly possible, swaying side to side and tapping my thumbs on the steering wheel. In the car beside me, a little boy was pointing in my direction and laughing. I waved, then laughed right back.
Keeping my eyes on the road, I was suddenly brought back to reality. A big, orange, diamond-shaped sign that read CAUTION: ROUGH ROAD AHEAD jumped out at me. I’d seen this sign before. But this time, it sent a chill down my spine. Not because I was going faster than I should have been. And not because I had to grip the steering wheel tightly to maintain control of my speed. This time, it felt like this message or sign or whatever you want to call it, was meant for me.
The suspension groaned under the weight of the car. I could feel the wheels bouncing over every little bump and piece of loose rock. It was like driving on an old cobblestone street, except this one had no historic charm. Pay attention to the signs the Universe sends you, Allie. They’re important, I heard my mother’s voice echoing in my ears. I followed the cars ahead around the neon orange traffic cones. Moments later, I cleared the construction zone, returning to safer ground. Shake it off, shake it off... advised Taylor. When I reached Cherry Blossom Street, I picked up the pace. I passed by the Montessori school and my eyes were drawn to the sign out front. IN A WORLD WHERE YOU CAN BE ANYTHING, BE KIND. I felt the shiver once more. But...why?! I am kind to everyone. To my husband, Hank. To the kids. To my mother and Hank’s mother. To my friends, my team...I even donate blood for God’s sake!
I pulled into our driveway, turned off the car, then took several deep breaths. What the hell just happened? I tried ‘shaking off’ the strangeness of the drive home. And it was strange. My life is good. And everything seems fine. So why did I have this ominous feeling inside me?
I stepped into our redecorated foyer and Bailey, our five-year-old monster labradoodle, greeted me with his slobbery kisses. He impressed me with his sixth sense. Somehow, he could tell we were almost home before we turned onto our street. I bent down carefully to avoid twisting my hip as he wiggled against my knees, looking for extra belly rubs. When I straightened to my full length, I detected the rich and savory smell of seared meat. Strange. This aroma of fresh thyme and savory garlic could only mean one thing. Margaret was making dinner. But Saturday night is pizza night. Caution: Rough Road Ahead? Breathe, Allie. Breathe. Did I get the days mixed up? No. It was Saturday. But then again, maybe Margaret’s the one who scrambled up the calendar. Let it go, Allie. She lives in your basement—a luxurious one, granted, but it’s still a basement. I reminded myself to be kind, then gave myself a mental pat on the back for choosing the right path before shimmying off my heavy wool coat.
“You don’t have to type in a passcode now. Just hold it up to your face and it’ll unlock,” I heard Hank say when I got into the kitchen.
I couldn’t hide my surprise at seeing him pointing what looked like a brand-new phone at Margaret’s face. I set my keys on the counter. “You bought your mom an iPhone?” I said, my brows raised high. She once referred to them as ‘soul suckers’, but now it seemed her Facebook addiction had brought her over to the dark side.
Margaret sniffed primly, adopting a look I doubt anyone could replicate as her facial unlock. “Cameron finally convinced me. He said Sara—”
“Siri,” Hank corrected.
“Siri can help me with anything I don’t know how to work,” Margaret said, then positioned her face in front of her phone again.
“Mom, you don’t have to move your head in circles every time...it can tell who you are if you just look at it normally.”
I walked over to Hank, kissed the top of his growing bald spot, then eased around the table to sit across from Margaret, all while keeping one hand on Hank’s shoulder. Letting out a deep breath, I relaxed into the chair. It was around four and a half years ago that things shifted between Margaret and me. Good things can happen when you stop resisting and let go because you’re 1) tired of fighting for control, 2) overwhelmed by fear and anxiety, and 3) out of options and have no other choice. That’s what led to Margaret and me agreeing she would sell her condo, move into our basement, and finance my new start.
Of course, Margaret’s financial backing came with strings attached, or more like a web I felt I’d walked into face-first. At the beginning of it all, I wasn’t happy. But Margaret was because she was living with us. I wasn’t happy in the months that followed either, but after crying and complaining about what a terrible mistake I might’ve made during several wine nights with my best friend and trouble-shooter, Val, we settled on what became the perfect role for Margaret in the business—her sharp tongue and Pitbull-like attitude come in handy when dealing with difficult clients and vendors. As for living with us, she has her own entrance to the basement and certain boundaries, like not coming upstairs to clean or make dinner unannounced, unless I needed help. Going from an active ‘cold war’ to what could almost be called a friendship seemed like nothing short of a miracle.
Margaret looked up from her phone while her index finger continued tapping on the screen. Before I could tell her the good news, she asked, “How did it go with Better Homes?”
“Good! They signed up today.” I grinned, leaning forward on my elbows. “And with seven houses.” I grinned again.
“Oh, Al, that’s great!” Hank reached over and squeezed my hand.
Margaret smiled, putting down her phone. “I never had any doubt,” she said. From there, she was all business, pushing for the particulars of the account. Who knew she’d be so good at this? Strictly from a business standpoint, it was nice having her invested in this as much as I was.
“They’ll double check the dates for the first showings and get back to us,” I assured her.
Looking satisfied, Margaret nodded and, with her unsteady hand, reached for her phone and began tapping away again. Without looking up, she asked, “Did you give them your personal number?”
I shook my head while holding up my hands, scrunching up my nose. “Yeah, I know. But I just can’t have them go through Bea.” Bea, who took the place of our daughter Samantha who was off gallivanting across Europe and quite possibly changing her entire life trajectory, was our office assistant. Although Bea is sweet, her constant mistakes and missed deadlines had caused a lot of aggravation.
“What’s the point of paying her if you won’t let her assist?” Margaret leveled me with her own look of impatience, but I just shrugged. I refused to concede her perfectly good point.
“She’ll be fine,” I said. I’ll do everything in my power to make it so. Slumping back into my chair, I changed the subject. “I miss Samantha—”
“Oh, speaking of Sam,” Hank interjected, bolting upright in his chair, “she called earlier and said she might not be back for Florida.”
I bolted upright too. “WHAT?!”
Hank took a long, deep breath. “Apparently, she got a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity and just can’t say no. It sounds like it might be worthwhile—”
“But what about my mother’s—”
“She said she called her and it’s completely—”
“But it’s her grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday and our family trip.”
I shook my head in disappointment. It was just like Samantha to be selfish in an unhealthy way.
Hank chuckled ahead of answering. “Allie, you know your mother would want her to grab onto any opportunity...and honestly, I can’t say I disagree.”
“I know, I know,” I said.
Hank ran his hand through his hair, taking another deep breath. He looked over at Margaret, then back to me. Clearly, there was more bad news coming.
“What is it?” I asked, cautiously.
He was about to say something but closed his mouth. His hesitation was palpable, which made it hard for me to keep from narrowing my eyes at him. He took another deep breath, then cleared his throat. “Erm, it’s looking less likely that I’m going to be able to make it too because of the merger,” he said and then tacked on, “they’ll need me here to finalize the deal, so...”
“Oh, Hank, really?!” I moved toward the refrigerator, my frustration rising. Bailey followed behind me, likely wanting dinner. I turned back from the fridge door, his eyes were wide and filled with hope. I inhaled deeply, suppressing my emotions, and trying to speak without bitterness. “I understand, but it’s just... without Sam...without you—this whole trip feels like it’s falling apart.”
Margaret seemed to have lost all interest in her phone, looking over her glasses at us.
Hank walked over to me and gently said, “I know, Allie, but it’s not set in stone yet.”
I nodded, my gaze fixed blankly over his shoulder when he enveloped me in his arms. He smelled of Margaret’s cooking. A thought then struck me. “Wait a minute. Why is the dining room table set for dinner?” I pulled back, casting a questioning look at Hank, and my attention shifted to the kitchen table, where Margaret’s new phone box and the remnants of its wrapping were scattered.
“Oh!” Margaret declared, clapping her hands. “That’s right, you don’t know. Cam’s back.” She heaved herself to her feet, then bounced over to the stove. “I made his favorite dinner...with all the fixings,” she added before smiling proudly.
With my disappointment temporarily swept away by a sudden rush of excitement, I joyfully protested, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner...oh, I bet he brought a ton of dirty laundry with him.” I rushed to the foot of the stairs and called up to him, “CAM?!”
“Sorry, Allie,” I heard Margaret’s voice behind me. “He’s not here yet. But he is in town and it’s almost dinner time. So, he should be here soon.”
My head reared back slightly. “Oh.” I lifted my foot off the bottom stair and made my way back to the kitchen. I wrestled my phone out of my back pocket. “Let’s check his ETA,” I said, my grin still stretching from ear to ear. It’d been almost six weeks since I saw his face. And communicating through one-or two-line texts was getting tiring. Unlike his sister, Cameron wasn’t into Zoom or much into FaceTime. It was like having someone just show up at your house totally unannounced, he’d say. Well, too bad.
Cameron answered after the first ring. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, sweetie,” I responded, excitedly, too excitedly, pacing back and forth with a hungry Bailey trailing behind me. “Almost here?”
“Um, no,” he said slowly. “I wasn’t planning on coming home until later
tonight—why?”
I moved into the dining room and lowered my voice. “Oh, Cam. Your grandma made roast beef for you. Didn’t you tell her you weren’t coming for dinner?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I told her I was coming home but I didn’t say I’d be back for dinner.”
“Is there any chance you can be here? She went through all this trouble,” I said, holding my phone tighter up against my ear. I was fully aware that it wasn’t an issue for Margaret. Cooking was one of her greatest hobbies. Without sounding too desperate, I added, “You could always go back out after...” Holding my breath, I waited for his response. What can I say? I missed the kid!
“No...um...it’s just that...maybe...,” he paused, then I heard a brief scraping sound followed by his voice heavily muffled, as if he were speaking to someone else. “Okay, yeah. Be there soon,” he finally said.
One of the best things about having Cameron go off to college is seeing his sweet face when he comes home. Strutting back into the kitchen and smiling broadly, I announced, “Cam’s on his way!”
After what seemed like an eternity, Bailey, now with a full belly, suddenly jumped out of his bed and raced to the front door. Several minutes and a substantial amount of enthusiastic whimpering later, Cameron finally called out from the foyer. “I’m home!”
“We’re in the kitchen!” I called back, pushing myself away from the table and rushing to the door. A shooting pain went down my leg.
“Dinner’s running a bit—” The words died in my throat when I saw Cameron standing next to a strange looking girl as they took off their coats. Only, he did not look like my baby. He looked like an adult—clean-shaven with a fresh haircut, pressed pants, and a collared shirt. And who was this girl, looking equally adult-like in a black, skin-tight dress with a neon pink side braid in her dirty blond hair and several tattoos on her arm that looked like they’d been done by a six-year-old?
Cameron looked up just as Margaret and Hank arrived. He put his hand on the girl’s shoulder, cleared his throat, and said with cautious excitement, “Mom, Dad, Grandma...this is Zelda...my fiancé!”
What the hell?!
I tried my best to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. My mother’s warning to pay attention to the ‘signs’ echoed loudly in my head and the words from that gigantic, orange, diamond-shaped construction sign flashed before my eyes. CAUTION: ROUGH ROAD AHEAD.
