Ponsonby, Week 4, Part 2

My Dear Ladies,

This time, it really is goodbye.


Honey wasn’t quick enough to escape witnessing the tragedy of Jessica’s death, so sat down to play a dirge or two. She really is getting quite good at the piano, even the Grim Reaper thought so. But time marches on . . .


That satisfied face I earned. So what might have been Monday, and should have been Tuesday, ended up being Wednesday. It was done. I’ve no parting shots of the restaurant, but let the record show that the efforts of the Backyard Money Factory raised its sale value to $106,901. Not that we sold it. We’ve hung onto it. I, for one, can’t think of any better way to wait out the next four generations than by pouring tea and upholding its five-star reputation.


Honey was still a bit low about Jessica, but few gentle words from her father perked her up sufficiently to nudge her toward her birthday cake.


One last photobomb from our sweet Domino and a few hasty hugs later, and she was out the door,


moving just across the street.


She summoned her new chum, Joaquin . . .


Who in turn summoned his chum, Sergio . . .

And they were off!

And that’s the full tale I can tell from my perspective, I’m afraid. At this moment I’ve got my feet up and a mug of darjeeling in my hand. Raj is cooking something delicious for dinner, and Domino’s off in her room trying to convince Max Villarreal not to chew the heads off her dollhouse dolls (my word what a terror that child is!). I’m sure you’ll be eager to hear how things went with Honey, so I’ll enclose here a copy of her first missive to me. Once again, girls, I’m so pleased with our little experiment, and I hope you’ll take it the right way when I say I’m so very proud of the two of you. We’re a trio of unlikely heroines, I must say, but we’ve become a smashing success.

With Great Gratitude and Love,

Loelia Ponsonby

Dear Mum,

Hullo from across the street! I can see your kitchen window from mine, so it seems rather silly to communicate by post, but I know how you feel about tradition, and to be honest it’s nice to sit down and catch my breath every once in awhile, so here we are!


You’ll already know about the house, of course. With the money Joaquin and Sergio brought in I was able to plunk down the prefab “Nice N Flat Midmod” by FrancescaFiori (available on the gallery!), and we settled right in.


We ought to have set right to baby making, but I lost my nerve and went for something safer. Making eye contact with a dragonfruit is much less stressful than with a potential lover. How awkward is this photo? It makes me cringe even now. Planting seeds, am I right? It’s like a bad pick-up line in picture form. Ugggggghhhh.


Joaquin’s a phenomenally good sport and went straight to his easel. He’s quit his entertainer job and gone into art professionally and never once mentions that he and I probably would have made a better couple, but I mean . . .


First hug! First swoon, too. He smells exactly as good as he looks.


He likes me a little bit, too.


More than a little.


He did get a bit of panic in his eyes once the nooboo subject came up, but he kept calm and carried on and . . .




Or failure, depending on your perspective.


He took the news . . . not well. But he recovered famously, I promise!


I sent him to the workbench and he’s made excellent strides taking out his frustrations as our resident handyman.


I do appreciate you bringing the club round, though, Mum. I’m glad at least someone was excited about our upcoming new arrival. Oh, and thanks ever so for letting me take over as club leader. It definitely simplifies things!


Would you hate me terribly if I kicked Domi out of the club, though? She’s my sister and I love her, but her loud phase is incredibly annoying when I’m trying to practice for work, and she won’t stop making messes on my new floors and I have no way of punishing her or making her clean them up. It’s just a thought. I know you’ll say no. I know you’ll say family is everything. Could we at least age her up to teen, though? She’s driving me nuts.


Tada! Wolves & Barley, our swank cocktail bar. I got the name through a “hipster business name generator” I found online. It’s pretty, but don’t get attached. It was over before it even started.


Here’s my honey (and his Honey! Lol!) celebrating the grand opening.


A little training and encouragement for the chef . . .


Naturally, our first two customers were a critic and you, Mum.


Though I suppose I can’t really claim either of you as customers, since you were never sat at a table. Behind Nancy Landgraab’s head is a blank space where our hostess ought to have been. She never showed up for work. Nor did her replacement after we fired her.

I’m not sure how we’re meant to have a perfect 5-star restaurant if we can’t even keep a full staff, but as soon as I figure it out I’ll let you know. I’m trying very hard not to let you down, Mum, and to carry on your legacy, but it may be more difficult than we thought. However, I’m pregnant and in love so it’s going to take more than a couple of errant employees to bring me down.

Love you,


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