Sorry, It’s a No

Her pleading eyes. Her heaving breasts. There’s no fakery about her. She genuinely needs your work.

Look at those breasts, those legs, that face, and your dick imagines how she’ll show her gratitude. No, that’s just a tawdry fantasy. Real life’s not like that. But you can imagine all the same.

No, sensible thoughts. Garden. Are you going to keep it up to the same standard? No. To any standard? Probably not.

Money. Can you afford it? It’ll squeeze your budget. You’ll have no leeway. And you need leeway. You know how much she wants this. But you need leeway. The garden is not the only part of the house that needs to be maintained.

“I’m sorry, Agatha. I know you need the money, but I can’t afford it. Not regular work. Maybe irregular. But …”

The words strip the little joy from her face. Her brown eyes darken. Tears fleck their edges. Her nervous smile vanishes. Her dimples transform into pits.

You’re up out of your chair, kneeling before her, taking her hand. She flinches. Tries to pull it away from your grasp, but you hold on.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t. I’ve gone through the numbers several times. There’s just no way I can afford you.”

“None?”

“None.”

Agatha nods. Carefully she stands. “I’d better go,” she tells you.

You stand. “Look, if that changes, you’ll be the first I’ll contact. Maybe in spring. You know, when things start growing, but over winter, I can’t. Listen. If you get ****, call me. Maybe we can do something ad hoc, just not like you did with my mother. And if you still want to practice massaging, I’ll be willing to pay for that.”

She nods again, but there’s no joy in the nod, no smile, no happiness. You guide her to the door, let her out, watch her walk back to the Petersons’, back to her mini. She’s shaking. You’re shaking. You have to shut the door on her, because your heart is in pain. Watching her go is too much. You’ll break. You’ll call her back. Reverse your decision, and you can’t afford to do that. No, you can’t afford to do that.

You can’t move from the doorway, though. You collapse onto the floor, slumped, deep breaths offering little relief. That was the hardest decision you’ve ever made. Nothing else comes close. Its necessity didn’t make it any easier.