Growing Season (MxM) Complete

Ch. 3 Unplanned Departures

Ch. 3.

"I'm really sorry, Phillip. Do you want me to try and talk to him?" Mel asked, her voice full of concern as she paced in front of him. It was impossible for her to stand still, kind of like a kindergartener on a sugar high, all flailing arms and rambunctiousness. A re-write of the March schedule just went up, tacked tidily to the cork board in the break room, and if it was possible, Brian had cut Phillip's hours even further. Now part-time high school cashiers were getting more hours per week than the long term employee with his botany degree.

"No, it's to be expected," Phillip sighed in resignation, running his fingers through his short, dark brown hair.

"No, it's not! You're our most knowledgeable employee and you can't live off ten hours a week," Mel stamped her neon pink workboot clad foot in a show of support. She wanted Phillip to fight back, say something, anything, in defence of the job he loved. Or at the very least, allow her to. She was sick of him just rolling over like he deserved Brian's ire.

"With the time removed for the unpaid lunch, it's only nine hours," he corrected. She huffed at him in annoyance, so he cleared his throat. "Really, Mel. All you will do is make him hate me more. I don't want your job in jeopardy, either. It's fine," Phillip stated with more authority than he felt. Actually, it was quite touching that his supervisor, and friend really, was upset on his behalf, but there was no point in putting her in harm's way. Brian wasn't going to change his mind. That much was assured after his visit to Mrs. Bentman twelve days ago.

I'm so sorry dear, Brian can be more than a bit of a bully. Fred and I offered to stay on for awhile to help with the transition, but he refused. He said the best way for us to retire was to do it quick, like pulling a bandaid, rather than mouldering away like rotting fruit. Mrs. Bentman had told Phillip, tutting away like the grandmother she wanted to be. She did offer to give him a glowing recommendation to anywhere else he was planning on applying and her reference would go far in the gardening industry of their small city.

Phillip kind of had a resume ready, it was really empty since Bentman's was his only job ever, unless you considered mowing neighbours' lawns when he was twelve. He'd budgeted, he had plans for another job (although none had materialized as of yet), but mostly he'd decided that he could earn money by renting out part of his house. It was nowhere near the most palatable idea. After all, Phillip didn't really care for people, or at least he didn't think he did, and as a general rule, they didn't seem to like him too much either. Of course, there would be problems. The noise, the mess, the drama, the conversation; but money had to come from somewhere and his house was sitting mostly empty. Maybe he could rent to a quiet introvert who would just mind their own business.

 Maybe a little company would be a good change? If it was possible that change could be a good thing, however most of his experience firmly reinforced that change was bad.

Another idea Mrs. Bentman had offered, aside from tea and sympathy, was the opportunity to tend to her garden. Mr. Bentman's knees were acting up, so he could no longer do the digging and planting that Mrs. Bentman demanded. If he did well, and he knew he could, this would garner offers from other elderly friends of hers, and a small gardening business might begin. It was hardly going to make him wealthy, but it could possibly help with the bills and it was something that Phillip would enjoy.

One thing was firmly decided—in a day or two, when he was more comfortable with the idea, Phillip was going to advertise a room or two for rent. Heck, they were even furnished.

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