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“Go take care of Maggie, we got her.” Jackie winks before pushing me gently toward the door.
Olive races out of the bedroom, and I grab her as she barrels at me. After a few more hugs and reassurances, she lets me go.
Now that I’ve got one of my girls taken care of, it’s time to go take care of the other.
Maggie
How could I have been so stupid?
The letters detailing exactly how stupid I am lay accusingly on the coffee table. I’d thought I had everything under control, that my business was doing well and I’d been so damn clever in setting everything up. The one thing that didn’t occur to me was to check that my payroll guy knew the difference between Oregon and Washington.
Now, the high of a pleasant Thanksgiving and a successful major event has been destroyed by the stack of mail my parents handed to me as I walked out the door Friday morning.
Thanksgiving had been surprisingly enjoyable. Daisy and Mom ordered everyone around as usual, but this year their critiques of my outfit and hair and the store-bought rolls I’d brought didn’t faze me. Ophie, Dad, and I opened a bottle of Sunshine Cellars pinot and played Scrabble, while Mom, Daisy, and Ava fussed in the kitchen. I even convinced Marcus and Dave to put down their phones and join us for a game.
In the end, Marcus and I teamed up to even the playing field. Dad has done the Times crossword every day for fifty years, and Ophie knows too many big words from her grad school program. Marcus and I could barely keep up with them, but we did our best. Ophie’s face when Marcus managed a triple word score with “farts” was priceless.
Twelve-year-old boy humor for the win.
I tried to get Ava to join us as well, but she insisted on being in the kitchen with her mom. Maybe my magic touch with kids only extends as far as Olive. Or maybe nine-year-old nieces who are as fastidious as my older sister are a different breed to me and Olive.
When those two meet, it’s going to be an explosion.
Everything had been so pleasant that I hadn’t thought twice about the stack of mail my mom handed me as Ophie and I left Friday morning. And I’d ridden that high right through Angela and Scott’s party. Even my awkward introduction to June and Shelby and the arrival of my period couldn’t knock me down. I was finally getting the hang of this “being a successful grown-up” thing.
And then I’d started opening envelopes. Most of it was the usual junk that I keep telling Mom to throw away. But then a particularly fat envelope from the State of Oregon caught my eye.
I pick up the offending paper, my stomach twisting into knots as I reread it for the millionth time. Or maybe those are cramps—my period has been a real bitch since its late arrival.
Unpaid transit tax
Failure to remit payment
Fines levied
Tax liens
The words on the page blur as my eyes fill with tears once more. Of all the ways I thought Frank had hurt me, recommending a shitty payroll guy who apparently hasn’t been paying a random Oregon payroll tax was the last thing I expected.
What the fuck is a transit tax, anyway?
Loud knocking on my door has my heart racing until Kel calls my name. “Sprinkles? Maggie?”
I roll off the couch to go let him in. The second the door opens, Kel steps through, wrapping his arms around me. As my weight settles against his firm chest, the knot of anxiety I’ve been holding inside fizzles out. I grip his waist, taking a deep breath for what feels like the first time in days.
Kel strokes the back of my head and neck, squeezing gently. His other arm pins me to him, his cheek resting on top of my head. “You’re okay, I got you,” he whispers over and over while I take long breaths, my body gradually releasing tension.
We stay like that for another minute, his breath matching mine as it slows. “So, what happened? What did you do?” Kel asks in a low voice as I pull away.
And even though there’s no hint of accusation in his tone, my shoulders hunch and I back away from his question. Maybe it’s because this whole situation has me thinking about Frank, or because I’m already embarrassed that I’m in this predicament, but Kel’s question feels like a barb. An arrow lodging in my chest.
“I didn’t do anything. My payroll guy hasn’t been paying some weird Oregon tax, and I just found out.”
Kel’s face scrunches. “That’s it?”
My emotional roller coaster takes another dive as irritation sweeps through me. “That’s it? This is a big deal, Kel.” I snatch the paper from the table and wave it in his direction. “I owe money to the government. They’re threatening to shut down my LLC. I could lose my business over this.”
That might be a slight exaggeration, but there are a lot of scary words in that letter. Words I haven’t quite absorbed.
