Grandma’s eyes widen. “Your own business!”
My explanation comes tumbling out of me, building with excitement as I share my hopeful plan. “I found the perfect space on Houston, a small studio that belonged to a painter. It couldn’t be in a more central location so there will be foot traffic. That’ll be a huge help in attracting new students. The best part is it’s very similar to the one I work at now. There’s a foyer for them to put their things, and a nice bathroom I don’t have to renovate. This space has only room for one class where the other has two. But the rent is incredibly lower than it should be because it’s owned by a woman in her eighties, Margot, who bought the building long ago and it’s now paid off. I spoke to her. She was like you, excited that women have more opportunities than they used to have! And even though there are a lot of yoga studios, with the rent this low, I can make it profitable. I want to sell products like mats, blankets, essential oils, candles. I’d have some on display but would ship most directly so I don’t have to store anything. They would be made-to-order so no extra inventory! I mean I might have a few branded items there for fun, if I find a distributor I can afford. Maybe split the profits with them at first.”
Grandpa Peter interrupts, “You’ve really thought this through. Are you here to ask us for a loan to start this business?”
I flatly answer him, “No,” causing them to exchange a confused glance, and I continue, voice stronger by the second, excited as I share with them what I haven’t shared with anyone. “I don’t just want to teach here in the city. The other instructors where I work conduct classes at the studio, and yes, that will be mostly what I’ll do. But I also want to host retreats in countries like Italy, Peru, Costa Rica, Bali, with students flying in from all over the world for a week of connecting with their true selves. And it won’t just be yoga and meditation. Between those, they’ll have access to things like hiking and snorkeling and canoeing and sightseeing!”
Grandma asks, “How do you attract people from all over the world, Tempest?”
“I’ll have an online blog, and run ads. People search for retreats, and I can use my marketing background! I know how to advertise, how to position my blog with S.E.O. — search engine optimization — that’ll make me show up on top of the first page of searches. Retreats are scheduled often months in advance. There’s plenty of time to attract enough students to pay for it, pay my salary, and still have a profit to host more.”
“This is above my pay-grade,” smiles Grandpa Peter.
But she squeezes his leg. “With all of your stock market trading?”
“That’s different. I know little about the internet the way Tempest does.” He looks at me, eyes shining with encouragement. “You know a business takes time to get off the ground?”
“I know.”
“I’m not sure where we come in.”
Fighting butterflies, I take a deep breath. “I don’t expect it to take off right away, but I have what few people do — experience in marketing. I’ll use everything I know to attract people who need, who resonate with, what I’ll give them. From a practical standpoint, the merchandise can be made-to-order so there’s no upfront cost. The retreats need the business to be established, the blog set up and consistent, before I can schedule one. But I don’t think I’m being unrealistic. I can make this happen sooner than most. At the outset, my profit will be eaten by cost of rent, heating, water, stocking up blankets and yoga blocks. I have to buy shelves, and I don’t want them to look cheap. I have a little money saved to start out and get all of these things.” They wait for more, but my voice just left me.
Grandma rises, “Peter, let me get you some lemonade.”
As she disappears into their kitchen, he looks at me, “She knew you needed a moment,” reaches for a macaroon cookie, and lowers his voice. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Tempest. With as many daughters as I have, you’d think I’d be less surprised when I hear my granddaughter talking about her business plans with the knowledge and forethought you’ve brought with you today. I am very impressed.”
A smile tugs. “I hope women keep surprising you, Grandpa.”
“I hope so, too. I don’t know if I ever told you this, but your grandmother was one tough cookie.” He holds up his. “I think that’s where you girls get it from. Your grandmother was the rebel of her friends. She got them to do things they wouldn’t dare to do!” Smiling at the memory of their youth he whispers, “She was somethin’ else. Tough as nails. Wouldn’t let anybody in.”
Josh appears in my mind, and I can’t stop myself from asking, “How’d you get in then?”
“Pretended like I didn’t care about her.” He takes a bite.
My eyes widen, feeling how close to home his words really are. “Seriously?”
With a fresh plate of macaroons and an espresso cup on a tiny saucer, Grandma returns. “Seriously what?”
Reaching, he asks, “How did you know I wanted coffee?”
She holds them out of reach. “Answer me first. What were you telling her?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why change the subject?”
“We were talking about how much I love you.”
She sighs, and hands over the tiny cup, sitting beside her husband and setting the macaroons down on their coffee table. “If Tempest decides to ever eat something, we have enough now.”
“Can I move in with you guys?”
They look at me, stunned.
Grandma asks for them both, “You want to live with us?”
“Just for a little while!” I
