The Humble Wares

The first time I saw Mr. Nestor was at the orphanage. Several people a day came and saw the children there, but none had even an ounce of Mr. Nestor's genuineness.

He came with his wife. They glowed together, laughed together, and drew the attention of all the children. He was short, balding, and pudgy, and his wife was tall, lean, and buxom. At the time, I was fifteen and had given up any chance of adoption. Nobody wants a teenager. So naturally, when his gaze kept pausing at me, I wasn't able to keep the puzzled look off my face.

And when he spoke to our priestess and pointed at me, I almost took cover behind an actual child. She even told him my name was Katya, so there was no confusion.

Make no mistake, this is no coming-of-age story. By that time, I was a fully grown woman. Well read, more mature than most adults, and wise beyond my years. Sometimes I emanated an absolute cuteness to get my way, but that was a simple manipulation.

The couple didn't stop holding hands until we left together, and a messenger ran up to Mr. Nestor and handed him a note. You can tell the true nature of a person by how they treat strangers. Mr. Nestor greeted him with a handshake, a smile that gave the sun a run for its money, and a small gratuity. A true gentleman.

Everything changed when he opened the paper, however. After a slight pause, he began to weep. His wife looked on and, much to my surprise, gave minimal reaction other than curiosity.

He quickly apologized to me for some reason, and we rushed to the community doctor. I heard him say sorry at least fifty times to various strangers and horse-drawn carriages along the way as we bobbed and weaved through people.

His mother had died just before we got there. No last words. No goodbyes. The doctor mentioned that it might have been her heart, due to stress, but he wasn't sure.

"I can't believe this is happening," Mr. Nestor said, holding his mother's pale hand.

His wife, who had somewhat distanced herself from him ever since they got the news, stared off into the distance. "What will you do about The Humble Wares?" she asked.

"Her shop?" he asked without turning away from the bed.

"Yeah. Guess you'll have to sell it, huh?" There wasn't any inflection in her voice. No tone. It was almost as if she didn't care. I wanted to say something, but I was so far out of my element.

He stared down at his mother's hand as he caressed it. "I'll have to run it. That's what she would have wanted."

"What?" his wife said, startled. "We were going to go on vacation. You were going to take me out west to see the sea. Aren't we still going?"

For the first time, he looked away from the woman lying on the table and glared at his wife. "Are you serious? Of course not." His eyes were red from the tears he shed.

His wife stood up. "Okay, that's it. You've chosen work over me for the last time. Either we're going on this trip, or I'm going. For good." She crossed her arms, and her eyes lit up with fire.

Mr. Nestor's mouth hung open, as did mine. I uncomfortably fiddled with a string on my worn backpack. After staring at each other for what seemed like ages, his body jumped a little from a single small chuckle, and he only said one word.

"Bye."

The fire in her eyes burned out, and she was taken aback. "Fine! Have fun being alone for the rest of your life! You were lucky I lowered my standards for you. I could have any man!" She began to storm away, then turned and spat on the ground in front of him before leaving.