It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

Changing the Wind (2)

"Wanna see my knife?" Elliot withdrew a steak knife from his pocket.

Matthew snatched it. "Stop taking knives from the kitchen." Glancing back into the space, he asked, "Why did you even need one for that?"

"You never know when you'll need it," Elliot answered.

Liza snorted.

He groaned again. "Jus – stop it." Matthew turned on his heels and retreated to the kitchen.

"So can you help me?" asked Lilliana.

"We're, actually here to check out your conservatory," was the last thing Matthew heard Toby say before his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

He leaned against the counter, wiping his eyes and wishing he could turn back time. There was no part of him that didn't think this wasn't a giant mistake anymore. All Matthew could do, from this point, was usher them out of the house as fast as humanely possible.

Rounding the corner from the kitchen into the dining room, Matthew stopped in his tracks. Not only had he forgotten the paper towels, but Mr. Yang stood a distance from the group, arms crossed and staring.

"Oh, I don't know," Toby said, his own arms crossed over his chest. "Your uncle must be pretty stupid to think this room couldn't be a good conservatory."

Matthew cringed.

Mr. Yang raised a brow, meeting Matthew's eyes for a moment as if asking, "You're hearing this, right?"

"It gets pretty good light in here." He stepped in, careful to step around the sludge. "Like, really good light." Toby leaned over, glancing through the trellis outstretched from the roof. "God, the light is great." He paused, angling his head. "I don't know the coordinates for the winter and summer sun, but the overhang is pretty substantial. Is there cross-ventilation in here?" Toby didn't wait for a response, trotting to the other side of the room and throwing open a pair of curved double doors that stuck as they opened, a cool breeze sweeping against everyone's feet. "Great cross ventilation." He turned back, yet kept his eyes fixed on the world outside. "The light in the space is optimal for growing most deciduous plants, which can also cut down on carbon emissions if you're growing your own herbs and vegetables for cooking." Toby leaned up to brush the windowpanes with his fingertips. "These windows are shoddy at best. You need double panes." He squished his face up against the windows. "Yeah. Dude, your uncle's a moron."

Matthew buried his face in his hands, groaning.

Mr. Yang's footsteps echoed in his ears.

"Daddy, did you see my maps?"

Liza gasped, then snorted.

"Ew, why do you smell like that?" his daughter asked.

By the time Matthew looked up, Mr. Yang, hands clasped together in front of him, glared at Toby with such vitriol it would've made anyone wish for immediate death.

"Wait, he smells?" asked Eli, but he stepped back once within a meter's distance. "Ugh, you smell like smoke. In the worst way."

"Elliot, clean up your mess."

"I'm not – "

"I was not asking, Elliot."

Nobody dared breathe.

Glaring back, Eli rounded the corner to the kitchen.

"Hm," was all he said after several tense moments, though this was low and thoughtful. His brow furrowed.

Matthew stepped forward. "...sir, I – "

"I'm thinking, Mr. Robinson."

Liza stepped back from the table. "We should go, Matt."

Mr. Yang turned his sunken brown eyes to Liza. "Leaving so soon, Ms. Doctorov? You're not one to back down from confrontation."

"Y..." Matthew traded glances between the two. "You know each other?"

"Oh, I always keep track of persons of interest, Mr. Robinson," Yang explained, side-eyeing his nanny, "though I didn't think you would willingly choose to associate yourself with someone as abrasive as Ms. Doctorov."

"'Abrasive'?" she gasped, teeth clenched.

Toby stepped forward. "S-sir, about what I said – "

"What's your background?"

He looked to Matthew for assistance; he offered none. "S-sir?"

"Your background. What's your degree in?"

Swallowing, Toby glanced down. "I...studied horticulture and organic science."

"Hm," was his response, followed up with, "And your name is...?"

"...Tobias Schroeder."

The older man leaned back, considering the younger man carefully. He crossed his arms, glaring. "Mr. Schroeder, are you familiar with either the IBC, LEED, or the USGBC, and their associated codes and regulations?"

Elliot returned, the entire roll of paper towels under his arm. He muttered in a foreign tongue as he started wiping up the yellow goop.

Toby shook his head. "I'm...not a designer, sir. I'm a horticulturist first and foremost."

Lilliana, pushing herself against the dining table, trotted over to Toby. "You're a horticulturalist?"

He nodded.

"Okay, because Eli keeps telling me that if we wanna grow a garden I can, like, eat a mint leaf when I'm sick and then I'm all better."

Toby swallowed. "That's...that's herbalism. I study things growing. I can plan out your backyard garden and keep it nice-looking. But I can't prescribe plants to you when you're sick. I don't know that much."

"Hm," was Mr. Yang's response, though this one Matthew could only describe as "positive".

"Ugh, what use are you, then?" Eli asked.

Matthew sighed again. "Dude."

"Sorry, you don't want lavender and witch hazel growing in abundance?"

Elliot frowned.

Toby's eyes moved to Mr. Yang. "...they make great centerpieces...I think."