“Anyway, the real reason I’m here is because Poppy’s birthday is tomorrow and I need Minion cupcakes.”
I know better than to a commit to a job right away, even if it is a neighbor.
“How many cupcakes?”
She looks up at the ceiling and does math in her head and on her fingers. My stomach drops while I watch the numbers in her head go higher than 24.
“Thirty-seven,” she says.
Immediately I decide I’m going to charge her for two batches—48—because no way am I doing that math.
I tell her the amount it will cost, and then tell her what I charge for a rush job.
“Excuse me? You’re going to tack on an extra charge for little ol’ me?”
Uh oh. I’ve seen this happen before. People trying to take advantage because they know me. Not expecting me to charge them full price.
I don’t budge. “I’m sorry but it’s business.”
“How much did the Washingtons pay you for all of this? Surely you’re not hurting for money this week.” She gestures at the countertop laden with golden goodies.
Ouch. “No, I’m not hurting for money this week. But something could come up next week, or next month. And someday Shelby will go to college and I will still need to eat food.”
Meredith gives me a hurt look. “It just seems harsh to charge so much for a friend.”
I can’t believe how hard she’s pushing. “It seems ugly to count my money for me, but here we are.”
We stare at each other for a few moments. Finally, she sighs heavily as if resigning herself to the idea of choosing between the electric chair and lethal injection.
“Fine. I hav
e nowhere else to go, the professional bakeries won’t take my order this late so I guess I accept your terms.”
I should hold my tongue but I’m tired and I’m over it. “I am a professional, Meredith. Or did you forget the part where I renovated my whole kitchen, and your husband got his friend on the planning and zoning board to expedite my health inspection?”
Oops. I shouldn’t have brought it up.
Her eyes brighten. “That was so sweet of him, wasn’t it? Just so, so sweet of him to do you that favor. And it was so sweet of our computer genius son Corbin to set up your computer system and install all of your business software, wasn’t it?”
What is she doing? Trying to leverage a favor from five years ago? Her son did help me, that’s true. And he is quite the phenom with computers, even back then in middle school. But he didn’t do a very good job on the security end of things; someone kept hacking in and there was all kinds of suspicious activity around my computer microphones and cameras. I didn’t tell Corbin because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but I have since put in all new software and installed a firewall which took care of the problem.
“Let me put it in perspective for you. If your daughter wants Minions, I’ll have to go shopping for googly eyes because I don’t have any. I would be justified in charging you for my time spent shopping as well.”
Meredith stands. “Do whatever you need to do.”
“Fine. I’ll bring the final product to you first thing in the morning,” I say.
She gives me her always perfunctory-feeling hug and leaves me with a strange, cold feeling in my gut. I shake it off and head to the supermarket to gather supplies.
All the way to the store I replay the scene in my head.
Why do people think they can take advantage of friends and acquaintances and get special treatment just because I run a baking business?
I have a child attending the most elite prep school in the state, and I have bills to pay just like everyone else. Sure, Shelby attends on scholarship, but come on.
I pull my catering van into the supermarket parking lot but leave the motor running to keep all the desserts cold while I’m in the store.
The supermarket is about as busy as I would expect on a Friday night, and I get jostled in the snack cake aisle by a random shopping cart while I’m reaching for the Twinkies.