It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

I Try To Explain Everything

"Mr. Yang?" Matthew knocked. The morning presented an opportunity for the children to participate in "belated spring cleaning". "Clean your rooms, and I'll try cooking something nice tonight," was his offer; Lilliana took it. Matthew challenged Elliot to find a spell to prevent balding; Elliot took it, which meant sifting through everything in his room to see if he even had enough materials for whatever the potion or spell called for.

Matthew retreated downstairs in the hopes of settling the frustration and disgust in his stomach. "Sir?"

"I'm working, Mr. Robinson," he called back.

'Good.' Matthew swung open the door to find the older man with a phone pressed into the side of his face.

Mr. Yang's glare intensified. "I'm working, Mr. Robinson," he hissed, tone low.

Matthew cocked his head to the side, an innocent, confused look on his face. "But sir, I thought it would benefit you to discuss the financial challenges I've come across concerning the estate. And I've been trying to meet with you for the past few days concerning it, as well."

Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, Yang sighed. "Mr. Robinson, now is not the time. I'm on a call."

"Hmmm...okay." He shrugged and turned, heading back towards the hall.

"... I'll call you back, one moment." Yang's death stare at the sound of the phone clicking on the receiver impaled him. "Have you suddenly forgotten yourself? What could possibly be so important that you needed to barge in here like this?"

"I suspect the house has mold and a rodent infestation," Matthew began, swinging into one of the angled wooden chairs.

"This wasn't an invitation to stay," Mr. Yang noted. "I, obviously, have a conference call to get back to."

"Unfortunately, sir, this does involve you. More than you'd probably like."

Yang grunted and sat back in his chair. "What is it?"

"I checked out your master toilet. There's something wrong with the plumbing."

"Yes, and?"

It was Matthew's turn to glare. "I've been noting every single thing wrong with your home for the past five days so I could get estimates to see how much it'd cost to fix. Do you not want to know what needs to be done?"

"Watch your tone," Mr. Yang reminded. "I am your employer."

"I'm just doing my job, like you asked me to. 'The management of the estate, specifically the upkeep, cleaning, and repairs'." He paused, realizing the gravity of his tone, and cleared his throat. He continued, "There's something wrong with the plumbing. I'd recommend the wiring needs updating as well, just based on the fuse box. Plasterwork needs replacing, and I suspect much of the home's woodwork needs refinishing. The washer/drier units need replacing, as do the water heater. I wouldn't run it passed anyone that the roof needs some touching up, as well." He paused. "If you want the house to begin operating electrically, I'd recommend installing solar panels and completely removing the gas, as it's connected to both the kitchen and the heating systems. They also need updating, too. Gardening can, and should, be cut back. If you're going for a greener home –"

"I hope to," he interrupted. Mr. Yang's tone blended seamlessly with agitation and interest.

"– I'd get some regional flora to blend into the preserve. If you're really interested in investing capital into making the house greener, windows and doors need potential replacing, as well." Matthew stopped, staring back at his employer with the same amount of frustration. "You asked me to manage the upkeep of the house, and I can't do that unless I confer with who's in charge of the finances."

Mr. Yang, leg crossed, stared back, his chin resting on his hand. "Hm." This one was short, but not menacing.

Matthew leaned back into his chair, eyes remaining on him. "I've already emailed you every company I've reached out to for estimates. It's arranged by service first, then overall rating, then price."

The man leaned forward and typed away on his keyboard. Glancing over the email, Yang's eyes returned to Matthew and said, "I'll have to look into it. I'm not familiar with any of these companies."

"They're already arranged by rating. I've included links to their websites for you to consider." Matthew slouched, the momentum slipping away. "I've, put asterisks by the ones I think would be the best fit, especially considering the service and level of craftsmanship and quality they provide, and based on customer reviews."

Mr. Yang's eyes narrowed as they scanned the screen over. Slowly turning back to Matthew, he asked, "Are these companies approved to work on historically landmarked buildings?" The hints of a menacing smirk threatened to spread across his lips.

Matthew blinked, matching the man's glare. "That would've been wonderful information to have known before spending the last three nights researching this."

"Well, you can check their website." Mr. Yang turned back to the phone. "Now, may I get back to my call?"

"One more thing, sir. A question, really."

The older man looked expectantly.

"Do you know that any restoration and preservation projects of any building designed by Frank Henry Sullivan need his Foundation's preliminary approval to, and I quote, 'preserve the original fabric and intent of the building'?"

Mr. Yang stared.

Matthew's forced smile turned genuine. "It's not required, but it is a good look – 'Midcentury Sullivan House Being Painstakingly Restored'?"

The older man glared.

"I've already forwarded the list to the Foundation already, and I'm currently awaiting their response. I've CC'd you in on that as well."

Leaning forward, hands clasped on the desk, Mr. Yang asked, "One question, Mr. Robinson: was any of this necessary?"

"I think it was," Matthew replied on cue. "You asked me to take care of the house. You're in charge of the finances. It's quite difficult to get your attention for anything longer than a minute, as well. You're so invested in your work, and since you don't come for dinners, there are very few moments where I can speak to you about these kinds of things." He stood, glaring down the tip of his nose. "I would also like to point out that, for future reference, that these types of interaction inhibits the work you've hired me to do. You hired me to be a housekeeper, nanny, secretary, and anything else you may ask of me, with no current plans of lightening my load. You may be my employer, but the traditional arrangement does not suit the roles you're asking me to play."

Mr. Yang stared, chin pressed firmly into the palm of his hand. "Is that all?" he asked, glowering back. "You don't wish to tell me my parenting style is out-of-fashion? Is it abusive, perhaps? Is there something wrong with my wardrobe? Are you continuously displeased with the colors I wear? Pray tell, I am immeasurably interested in your opinion."

Matthew shook his head. "Not yet, sir."

"I'll look over the companies you sent. You'll arrange everything once you have the Foundation's and my approval."

He glared back. "Yes, sir."

"I have a call to get back to. Get out."

Matthew promptly bowed, cursing himself under his breath.

"And may I suggest that you rein in the tone next time. I'd be more than happy to let you continue your unemployment streak if you do not heed my words."

He paused, taking in a slow, pained breath. Matthew closed the door a little too hard behind him.

The call started up again a moment later.

Hearing the words "the help" uttered so easily only intensified the disgust sitting in his stomach. Heading back upstairs, Matthew swallowed it and found another hallway piled high with clothes and toys.