Chapter 88: A Session of Sarcasm Is the Only Appropriate Response to Unwanted Advice

“Miss Octavia Wilde, we really must have you on the board for our foundation!”

“You’d be a great addition to our society.”

“I’m sure you’d win the votes to be chairperson!”

Octavia returned the looks on the wrinkled, beaming faces before her with a weak smile.

“Thanks…” she said, “but I kinda got my hands full with my business as is—”

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” one of the ladies said, waving away her words. “There’d be someone else to do the grunt work, of course. All you’d have to do is chair a meeting once in a while.”

“It would be an honor to have your name among our list of leaders.”

“You’re such a smart, capable woman after all!”

“Yes! You really astound us all. You’re a credit to your people.”

Before Octavia let out the cringe that inevitably would infect her face, she felt a warm hand wrap around her waist as Raemon came to stand beside her.

“You okay?” he asked softly, squeezing her to his side.

Octavia directed the helpless look in her eyes up to him.

“Thank god,” she muttered for only him to hear, “you saved me from saying something very…unladylike.”

Octavia’s audience now directed their adoring gazes up at Raemon.

Raemon gave them all his most charming smile.

“Excuse the interruption, ladies,” he said, “I just have to check up on her regularly. It’s possessive of me, I know.”

They seemed to shake their heads in unison.

“Not at all…very romantic of you.”

“How nice for her that you care so much!”

“You two make an adorable couple!”

Raemon nodded graciously. “I’m extremely proud of her receiving the award tonight.”

Octavia smiled to herself. Raemon effortlessly engaged the small crowd of women Octavia had been drowning in only minutes ago in meaningless small talk, but they eagerly lapped up his words.

It had only taken her a few minutes once she arrived at that function to curse Lauren for RSVP’ing her and Gracie to the Sanatio Benefactors Awards Dinner.

From the minute she and Raemon walked into the hotel ballroom, she had been plagued by swarms of people.

Some were fellow businesspeople in the area who thought that themselves and O.G. Idea were the perfect match.

Some were aspiring politicians who would definitely be sure to “look out” for O.G.’s interest if they were elected.

Some, like the small crowd before Octavia then, were leaders in their own charity organizations who would have LOVED to have Octavia play a role in their endeavors—provided her money came along with her too.

She realized now why Raemon had always seemed detached in these kinds of settings.

“We settled on a mixture of exotic and local plants, exotic for the indoors and local for the outdoors,” Raemon was saying. “The Birds of Paradise in the living room give the space a bright, energetic air.”

“Was that your idea?” one lady asked Octavia.

Octavia shook her head. “Nope. All his. He’s the one with the green thumb. Before he came, the yard was nothing but chaos.”

Raemon kissed the top of her head.

“I think she’ll change her mind when I’m finally done with the landscaping. Especially when we get the koi pond. You could have some gardening skills in you that you don’t know about, Tavi.”

Octavia grinned up at him. “Are you forgetting about the cactus that I killed?”

Raemon returned her grin and then looked toward their audience. “She absentmindedly watered the poor plant with bleach. And filled the washing machine dispenser with plain water.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Octavia protested. “I was thinking of a new way to cross-reference medical results for a project. I can’t be trusted with any household chore when I’m working on a project.”

“Which we know now,” Raemon said, “and which is why you’re banned from the kitchen and broom closet during all product development phases.”

Their audience laughed.

“My, my,” one lady said, “you seem so happy together.”

“It’s adorable.”

“Is there going to be a…wedding anytime soon?”

Octavia forced her eyes not to roll back into her head while Raemon calmly lifted one hand of hers to his lips.

“We’re happy together, that’s all that matters,” he said placidly.

Quentin popped up out of nowhere.

“Raemon, there you are! There’s a man here who I think is in possession of an original Louis Armstrong record collection—and I may be able to buy it off him. I need your help.”

“I can’t lend you money,” Raemon said bluntly.

“Not that. Gracie said she can write me a check. You speak French, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect! So does he. And I don’t. I need someone to translate so I don’t end up buying something completely different from what I thought I was buying.

“Like a collection of Louis XIV commemoration plates instead.”

Before Raemon could refuse, Octavia tugged at his arm.

“It’s okay,” she said, “go ahead. I’ll catch up with you all later.”

He was hesitant, but eventually he let Quentin drag him away. Octavia once again turned back to her crowd, determined to bring the performance to an end.

“He really is such a nice man!”

“However did you land that gem?”

“You should lock it down and get married!”

“Um, sure,” Octavia answered. “Look, I have to go—”

“Why hasn’t he put a ring on your finger, yet?” one of them said with a light laugh.

That was it, Octavia decided. Nothing ended a conversation like this one more swiftly than the blunt, honest truth.

“He did. I said no,” Octavia said.

The ladies didn’t quite know how to respond. They exchanged glances and reinstated their smiles, though there was a touch of nervousness to them.

“Oh…why is that? He seems devoted to you.”

Octavia smiled. “He is. But that’s hardly reason enough to marry someone, is it?”

Again, no response. Octavia took the opportunity to voice her own thoughts.

“It could be for the wrong reasons, after all. And anyway, it’s not like anyone’s obligated to marry someone merely because they claim to love you.”

“Err…I suppose…”

“Still…he is rather charming.”

“There could be hundreds of women out there trying to steal him from you!”

The self-satisfied look on Octavia’s face didn’t fade for a minute. “If any woman out there can ‘steal him from me,’ she can have him.”

They answered with nervous laughter.

“All the same, you might want to think about the future. The biological clock is ticking after all,” one ventured to say. She spoke as if she were imparting wisdom to a naïve, ignorant child.

“Your window will close eventually,” another added. “Trust us, that time comes about sooner than you’d think.”

“Before you know it, it’s upon you,” one more chimed in.

“Nah,” Octavia said, “my window’s already closed. Permanently. I made sure of that.”

While they regarded her in dubious silence, Octavia took a languid sip from the champagne glass in her hand.

“You mean…you can’t…?”

“Have kids? Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“Oh.”

“I’m…sorry to hear that.”

“Well…there’s always adoption.”

Octavia frowned. “Why? I don’t want kids.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I’m pretty sure I do,” Octavia said.

“But…not really.”

“You’ll change your mind eventually.”

“How could you not want kids?”

“Why should I have to want kids?” Octavia countered. “That’s the better question.”

She excused herself soon afterward, and they let her go without complaint. For the rest of the evening, there was at least one less group of people trying to get themselves in Octavia’s good graces.

Eventually, she found Gracie. She was standing by one of the tables, far away from the rest of the crowd and wearing a look that would make anyone think twice before approaching her.

Gracie’s navy-blue tailored pantsuit gave off a military-like air, making her seem even more intimidating.

“Fucking hell,” Octavia said with a sigh when she reached Gracie, “Lauren is totally fired for making us come here.”

Gracie glanced at her friend with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to come to this thing?”

“Me? Hell no.”

“Then why are we here?”

“I told you. Lauren. She sent in our RSVP.” Octavia shrugged. “Said it would be good publicity.”

“You’re right. She is fired.”

“First thing to do when we get back in to work Monday.”

“She’s a goner.”

“Oh, after she gives me the itinerary for the week, of course.”

“Oh yeah…also once she shows me where the test results for our control system project are kept.”

“And after she finishes the hiring process for the new test engineer.”

“Right. Then she’s fired.”

Octavia sighed. “So are you having as much fun as I am then?”

“More,” Gracie replied blandly.

“I just got passively grilled by a bunch of women on marriage. And kids.”

“That’s new,” Gracie scoffed. “Always good to be reminded of one’s role in society as a baby-making machine.”

“I swear to god, it’s enough to make me want to hate the sight of children,” Octavia grumbled.

“Don’t you?” Gracie said sarcastically. “Why else would you choose not to reproduce? Being the childless monster that you are?”

“I could think of a few reasons,” Octavia answered. “The cost. The sacrifice. The fact that as wonderful and adorable as kids may be, they’re still kind of like parasites.

“From the minute they’re conceived, they just need all these things from you—and that goes on for years.”

“In some cases, for forever,” Gracie added.

“But hey, just because there are some forty-year-olds out there whose mothers still do their laundry and clean their rooms, that doesn’t mean all offspring are parasites.”

“Luckily those poor mothers have their offspring giving their lives meaning to make up for the sacrifice of their unpaid labor.”

“If looking after a kid is so much fun, why not do it for the rest of your life? And theirs?”

“Parasites,” Octavia repeated. “It’s just a fact. One that you should be completely aware of before you bring a kid into this world.”

“Nah, it’s better to have a rosy picture of everything and be rudely awakened by the harshness of reality. Because by then it’s too late.

“And it’s not like you can return a kid for a refund. So you’re stuck raising a child you never wanted.”

“And the poor kid is stuck with a parent who never wanted to do it in the first place.”

“But at least society is happy. It’s so unsettling when any one of its members goes against the grain. Keep the machine working smoothly, Octavia. Have babies.”

“I’d like to know what law mandates any human with a vagina must want and have children to be happy,” Octavia said with a scowl. “I don’t get it. I don’t give a damn about other people having babies—”

“Unless you’re seated next to a newborn on an airplane,” Gracie interrupted.

“So why is everyone determined to get me to pop a kid out of my body?” Octavia continued. “Like it’s impossible to be happy without kids? Even when there’s plenty of evidence to suggest otherwise.”

“Nah. A million miserable parents and perfectly content childless couples are negated by a single happy, nuclear family.

“And the thousands of women who would like to remain childless are negated by only one woman who spends her whole life wanting to become a mom.”

“I’m not getting in their way. Why must people continually get in mine? Whether I have a small human spring from my loins or NOT, I can still have a fucking great life.”

“No, you can’t,” Gracie said bluntly. “You’re nothing if you don’t get to be a mother. It’s, like, a law.”

“Please,” Octavia scoffed, “I have a mother, and she’s an award-winning scientist. She was great before I was born, she was amazing while she raised me.

“And now that she and I lead separate lives, she’s still kicking ass. Clearly, there’s no correlation between motherhood and a fulfilled life.”

“Unless you’re into blogging,” Gracie commented.

The two of them snickered between themselves.

“Jesus,” Octavia sighed, “we really should spend less time together.”

Gracie smirked. “Our sarcasm sessions always make me feel better. Don’t you?”

Octavia grinned. “Good thing no one was around to hear it. That definitely wouldn’t make for good publicity.”

“I don’t know,” Gracie said. “With the number of people we could offend in one sarcasm session, we might have enough publicity to last us for the rest of our lives.”

“But not good publicity.”

“Is there even such a thing? Who remembers the ‘good’ stuff? Isn’t the point of publicity to get noticed? To be talked of?”

Octavia raised her glass. “In that case…we will be legends.”

“Just wait until that secret recording of us talking comes out. We’ll be forever immortalized in the halls of controversy.”

“Hell yeah.”

The evening dragged on. There was a dinner, for which the elegant cutlery was the most appealing part of the meal. Then there were speeches.

Then Gracie and Octavia were among the hundred or so people who walked up to the stage and received an award. When the last speech was given and the final wave of applause died down in the hall, Octavia was ready to leave.

She gave Gracie and Quentin a hurried goodbye before making a beeline for the exit. Raemon was already outside, getting the car.

Gracie would unfortunately have to wait until Quentin got the contact information for the Louis Armstrong record seller.

“How did you do this?” Octavia wailed, collapsing in the passenger seat of her Prius. “I can’t stand these rich-people things.”

“Octavia, you are one of those ‘rich people’ now,” Raemon said.

“No,” Octavia said firmly, “I refuse. I still have a soul. And I am NEVER getting a Pomeranian.”

Raemon smiled in amusement as he maneuvered the car onto the highway. It didn’t take long before he was rolling up the driveway of Octavia’s three-bedroom home.

Octavia clambered out of the car, yawning and stretching once she did.

“I can’t wait to get out of this dress,” she yawned, tugging the black dress further down her hips for the millionth time that night.

It was a relaxed fit that still hugged her body, with short sleeves and a hem that stopped just below her knees. She had paired this with black, ankle strap flats.

Raemon closed her car door after she got out. “I can help with that.”

Octavia grinned as he wrapped his arms around her body.

“Could you? It’s so hard getting clothes off of one’s body, you know.”

As he kissed her, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the large tree in her yard.

The place had been wild and overgrown when Octavia had bought it, with all kinds of plants sprouting out of every square foot in the yard.

Even after she had been living in the place for a while, she had changed nothing.

So she was surprised when, shortly after Raemon moved in, she looked out the window and was actually able to see across her yard.

The yard in which Raemon was raking the grass—shirtless. For the first time in her life, Octavia realized the merits of gardening.

“You learned gardening too?” Octavia asked Raemon once he came back inside.

“I picked up a few tips when I was in Bhutan,” Raemon said with a shrug. “You have some excellent perennials out there.”

“I have no idea what that means, but damn. It actually looks normal out there…not like the jungle it was before.”

Slowly, the wilting neglected garden that she’d always meant to hire a gardener for transformed into a landscaped, blossoming Eden.

But neither one of them were overly concerned with the surrounding foliage at that particular moment as they stood in her driveway.

“We need to get inside,” Raemon whispered against her ear.

She sighed impatiently.

“We’ll have to get up the stairs, one of us will have to find a key, and you know how long it takes to jiggle open that stupid front door lock…I can’t wait that long,” Octavia replied.

Her fingers were already undoing the buttons of his shirt. “Let’s do it out here.”

Raemon covered her lips with his and in between kisses said, “You want us to do it…on the grass?”

“On the grass, on the driveway, behind the bushes…doesn’t matter,” Octavia said hurriedly. “Let’s just do it.”