The Beautiful People

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7. Joshua

     I watched with a rather nonchalant attitude while Angie unpacked her clothes, putting them into a dresser as if she were moving in with the Parsons family. We were only going to be staying two days, three tops and she was packed to stay a week or two. I only packed for three days, and if I was going to stay longer, I was pretty sure there was a washing machine and dryer here to take care of the situation. This was just Angie being Angie, and while I was alright with it, I am sure to others it could be so fucking annoying.

     "You do realize this is just for the weekend, right?" I reminded here. "Unless some big blizzard rolls through, we're heading back in only a few days."

     "I know," Angie said, sighing deeply. "I just wanted backups, in case someone spills something."

     "You mean in case I spill something?" I said, taking the obvious hint.

     "I'm just being careful," Angie replied, "I want this weekend to be perfect."

     "How about you aim a little lower," I suggested, "Perfection is a tad overbearing. You might get on a few people's nerves if you haven't already."

     "What the fuck does that mean?" Angie asked, somewhat taken back.

     "I mean tone down on the sucking up," I offered, "While I understand you're trying your best to climb the corporate ladder, don't do it at the expense of Mrs. Parsons' territory. You should have seen the evil eye we were getting, I think we got here too early."

     "I'm sorry," Angie said, but it had the believability of a card that said fuck you.

     "Just take a moment, and relax." I said, as I stood up to go. "Everything will be fine."

     "Go down without me," Angie said, "I need to make a call."

     "No problem," I said, just before walking out the door.

     Angie knew what I said was true, but she still needed time to digest it so I felt it was best for her to stew over it alone. I left the bedroom and strolled down the stairs into the living room, which was pretty massive. There was a fireplace,  a large dining table that could easily seat twelve people, but no sign of a television or computer. Something told me there'd be no wi-fi either, so even if I managed to do any work this weekend, I'd have to wait until Monday as I had feared to email anything to my agent and publishers. I was looking at some family photos on the fire place mantle when Mr. Parsons came strolling into the room.

     "Joshua, right?" He said as he walked over and shook my hand. "David Parsons."

    "We've met before," I reminded him, "Christmas party last December. It was a open bar, so if you don't remember, then I totally understand."

     "I'm sorry," Mr. Parsons said, chuckling to himself. "There are some fuzzy moments from that party. How long have you and Angie been an item?"

     "About a year and a half," I answered, not threatened in any way. "Will be about two years this summer."

     "That's nice," Mr. Parson said, giving a civil smile. "I hope this weekend isn't too boring for you."

     "It won't be," I answered, "Besides, I brought my laptop with me and will probably kill some of the downtime doing a bit of work."

     "Oh," Mr. Parsons said, surprised. "What kind of work do you do, Josh?"

     "I'm a writer." I answered, "Fiction, poetry, and mostly comic books for an indie publisher."

     "That's great," Mr. Parsons replied.

     Before Mr. Parsons could say anything else,  Mrs. Parsons emerged from the kitchen.

     "Lunch is ready, boys." she called out.

     Being the men that we are, Mr. Parson and I immediately dropped our conversation and walked into the kitchen to down at the table located in the kitchen. Upon sitting down, Mrs. Parsons placed a plate before each of us with a lunch that looked amazing. She had made each of us a sandwich, a hot corn-beef sandwich on what looked like sourdough bread and mustard on it. The meat was at least two inches thick inside the sandwich, and looked like it was made a New York deli. They were sided with a generous helping of potato chips and a tall glass of Root beer.

     "Thank you very much," I said, looking back at Mrs. Parson. "This looks amazing."

     "You're welcome, dear." Mrs. Parsons replied, as she was just as hospitable to me as she was when we first arrived.

     When Angie came down for lunch a few moments later, Mrs. Parsons placed a bowl in front of her. Inside it was a tossed salad with a light balsamic on top. There were small pieces of tomato, green onion, and even walnut pieces inside it. She served it with a tall glass of water and a smile.

     "There you go dear," Mrs. Parsons said, "I hope this is to your specific needs."

     "What needs?" Angie asked, rather confused.

PJ Lowry

Edited: 28.09.2019

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