Isabella
I can't believe this. I literally can't.
Mr. Cullen has died. The legend is gone.
Cullen Consultancy has lost its leader.
"Have you seen the obituary?" Sue rattles off. "I swear my wedding invitations weren't as heavy as those. What kind of paper did they use? I bet sending those out cost a fortune in stamps alone."
I try my best to ignore her. Which usually doesn't go so well. But Sue is a gossip goddess. She lives and breathes for other people's business. Her questions are almost always rhetorical. And she married her high school sweetheart at eighteen. They lived in a hand-me-down trailer. I bet they didn't even have money for stock paper, let alone top-of-the-line Hanebisho paper. Another thing that annoys me: her obsessive whining about money. Especially when it's about the founding family of this company. The company basically gifts us our bread and the complimentary butter. Money is no issue for the Cullens. It has never been. They're as rich as the sea is deep. Endlessly rich.
I don't bother attempting to even be part of this one-sided conversation. It's a monologue, really.
"Did you sign the card?" It's juvenile. But it's the least we can do in this situation. Life's not always about retirement parties and birthdays…it's about funerals, too. Unfortunately.
"Card?"
I nod to the filing cabinet on the right wall. I can spot Alice's Swarovski pen from afar, acting as an improv paperweight. Yes, we got a cheap card, and yes, since so many of us have written our names on it, the paper started getting wobbly. No, I also don't have the budget for fancy Hanebisho paper. My budget is more Dollar Tree condolence cards in bulk.
I always have them in my desk drawer at home. I'm always prepared for anything, it seems. Yet, I'm still shocked our CEO will never walk through those front doors anymore. People die, Bella. They die every day.
"You seriously think Mrs. Cullen will put this out on her fancy china cabinet?"
"I don't know how you can be jealous of someone who just lost her husband, Sue." The words are out of my mouth before I can even blink. Crap. Two years of trying, of my best damn behavior, and today is the day I spill my guts to Sue. And apparently, I keep going, unable to shut the hell up. "Sending our dead boss's wife a card to show her we're sorry for her loss…don't you think that's the least we can do? Don't you think she's got enough to worry about right now? Cut the crap and act human for a second. This is important."
Sue blinks.
"Death is not a competition, Miss Swan."
She hasn't called me that since my orientation day.
If death is not a competition…why do we have mausolea and unnamed graves. Why crypts vs. quick cremation, Hanebisho, or Dollar Tree?
I don't see her until after lunch. She doesn't talk to me until Miss Cullen enters the building. I don't even hear what she's got to say but hum my agreement, trying to get back on her good side. Miss Cullen doesn't usually come here unless she had lunch plans with her father. But she's here, alright, red soles of her shoes loud against the shiny lobby floor, her hair in a fabulous, fancy ponytail. You can't even see a rubber band, it's that fancy.
She looks at our reception desk and walks over.
"I need legal and HR in a meeting room."
It's all she says. My fingers shake as I dial the shortcuts.
