Patreon Story: The Tutor, Part Eighteen

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Part Eighteen

”Good evening, Ms. Moore.”

Just as I was about to circle around to the front of the house, Trixie greeted me at the side door. There was no doorbell, so I had resigned myself to knocking and hoping that she was within earshot. Apparently not, as the only reason she had come to check on the secluded servants’ section of the house was because I was late. Which wasn’t fair, because I’m the girl who’s always early; until I have to awkwardly stand around outside as the minutes tick by, that is.

After a reminder to do so, I took off my shoes by the door, then followed the young blonde maid through the back hallway as she explained how my arrivals would work. There was a hint of impatience in her voice, which also wasn’t fair. This was only my second time at the Alodias’ house, and no one had informed me about protocol or etiquette in any of the messages prior to this explanation. 

The side door locked and unlocked on a schedule. My tutoring schedule had already been added to their system, which meant that I would always be able to let myself in. As long as I was punctual, of course, which Trixie made a point of emphasizing. I resisted the urge to scoff. Short of a gridlocked accident or an unexpected snowstorm, nothing ever messed with my ‘early is on time’ mantra.

Upon arrival, I was to wait in the sitting room and communicate my presence to Annabelle. More specifically, I was not to text from the car or right outside the house. The Alodia family abhors wasting time, and a message like that wouldn’t give a precise time frame. It would be best to know that I was there when I was officially there. 

I just found myself quietly nodding. More in acknowledgement than agreement. The whole process seemed so stiff and formal, especially when I knew that Annabelle was more laid back. But this wasn’t my world. I’d just have to go along with all the rules, though it would be nice to have a little handbook or something. 

Texting Annabelle like I was instructed to do so, I perched myself on the edge of the cream armchair nearest the door. For all I knew, Annabelle could be one room over, or all the way across the house. Either way, this was only my second time here. I didn’t feel comfortable enough to relax and make myself at home, especially after everything Trixie went through as we made our way down the back hallway and out to the main area. 

After all the messages Annabelle and I exchanged over the last week, I expected her to text me back. Instead, I found myself waiting alone for a few minutes, fidgeting a little bit as the time dragged on. This was exactly why you texted someone after parking the car. 

Eventually, she arrived with an energetic, “Mere!”

I was startled, to say the least. Despite the general silence of the house, save for Trixie working in the kitchen a few rooms over, I hadn’t heard Annabelle’s approach at all. She was wearing a conservative white skirt with a lace pattern and a dark red blouse, once again making me feel self conscious about my own rather plain outfit. Hopefully she didn’t catch my surprised expression. The reason she snuck up on me was probably due to the fact that she was barefoot; the one casual touch to her otherwise put together appearance. 

“Umm, hey,” I said. Brushing my hair back, internally chastising myself about the two nervous ticks–saying ‘umm’ and adjusting my hair when it didn’t really need any adjusting–I was too thrown off by sudden appearance to correct the nickname that I honestly hadn’t been particularly diligent about doing the last time we spoke, either.

“Umm, it’s ‘Hey, Annabelle,’” she replied. 

Her tone was teasing, as was the way she echoed my filler word, but I still found myself lightly blushing and going along with it. “Hey, Annabelle.”

“Good girl.” She winked, then extended her hand, “Well, what are you waiting for? Come on, I’m excited to learn more of this shit!” 

After all the pep talks I had given myself in the car, all the reminders to keep things appropriate and distant in order to deter Annabelle from being too casual and comfortable around me like she was during our first session, my resolve was already bending. 

I was supposed to be her tutor. That didn’t mean that we couldn’t be friends, but that kind of relationship would have to come second. Of course, that was difficult when her texts were bubbly and full of excitement when it came to mathematics. Or ‘this shit,’ at the moment. And, just like her texts, there was no defending against her current attitude. Not without acting cold and aloof in comparison in order to shut her down. I may not be a pushover, but I’m definitely a people pleaser. 

“Learn more of these advanced equations?” I asked, placing my hand in hers and allowing her to pull me to my feet. Annabelle was eighteen. I wasn’t about to be the straight-laced university girl that got on her case about swearing. But she was using the vulgar word as a substitute for mathematics; my major and future field. 

Annabelle gave a half eye roll, squeezing my hand as well. “Curse words aren’t scary, Mere,” she said. Walking back the way she came and gently tugging on my arm in the process, she added, “Come.” 

Those extra few days would have been nice to prepare myself for the redhead now leading me through her house like a lost puppy. I had been counting on that time to figure out what the best approach was to keep my dynamic with Annabelle appropriate. Thanks to Bridget, as well as my full schedule before driving over to tutor, any fleeting moments of free time were dedicated towards scrambling to make a lesson plan for Annabelle, rather than thinking through all the things that had been going through my mind before calling her the other day. 

It was too late to suggest a coffee shop, because our time had already technically started. Maybe we could work downstairs, instead of in her suite? After my last experience with her casual exposure, I was nervous she might have similar thoughts about getting comfortable in her own space. 

“Hey. Maybe we could work down here?” I suggested. We had reached the base of the stairs, so it was clear where the girl was leading me. Deciding to take advantage of the fact that we were holding hands, I gave a small tug in the opposite direction to prevent her first step up.

Cocking her head to the side, Annabelle just replied with a simple, “Why?”

“Well . . .” I trailed off. What to say? It’s not like I could blurt out the real reason, because she would just launch into a similar explanation that happened last time I expressed my discomfort. Clothes are a construct. My discomfort didn’t seem to matter when it came to the viewpoint of an opinionated eighteen year old girl. Instead, I lamely went for, “More table space?” 

“Hmm, maybe next time?” she said, “All my stuff is already set up. My time is precious, Mere, and you were already late.”

I was NOT late. “It’s Meredith.” Finally standing up for myself in terms of the full name, if only to stop myself from saying something worse, I reminded myself that I was the tutor here. Just because Annabelle was acting a little entitled didn’t mean that I should be immature or impulsive in my response. 

“Meredith. Right.” She sounded pretty indifferent about it. It felt like she wasn’t taking the correction particularly seriously, but she also wasn’t rolling her eyes and dismissing it. 

At some level, was that my fault? How many times had I let the nickname slip by without saying anything about it? The more she got it wrong, the more difficult it would be to undo the habit. 

“You prefer ‘Annabelle,’ don’t you?” I asked. It was a question I already knew the answer to, as I had made a point to ask on our first day. 

“Of course. Because it suits me. But honestly, Mere?” She stepped forward. The girl only had a few inches on me, but it felt like a lot more when it was this kind of face to face proximity. “I don’t think ‘Meredith’ works for you. So we’re going to stick with ‘Mere,’ okay?”

Wait, what? My lips briefly parted in surprise as I tried to find the words. She couldn’t just-

“Annabelle,” I began, but that’s as far as I got.

“No,” she said, “Your name is ‘Mere.’”

Then, out of nowhere, she leaned forward and kissed me.

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